Truth or War
by Luthien17
Summary: The musketeers are escorting a Spanish nobleman back to Paris, when they are ambushed and separated. While two of them have to protect the Spaniard with their lives, the other two follow their traces, hoping to arrive before it's too late. And if they don't make it back to Paris in time, France itself may pay the price.
1. The mission

_Authors note: First of all, welcome and a happy new year! This is actually the first story I've ever written, so there is no guarantee for well-flowing paragraphs. It is going to be a little adventure story, with some action and some h/c thrown in the mix in later chapters. It's my first try so there are many things that need improvement for sure. The story needs about three chapters to get rolling, so bear with me._

 _A big thank you goes to Jenny for taking the time to read this story and giving very valuable advice. She not only endured my insecure babbling in the beginning, but also encouraged me a lot. All remaining mistakes are mine. I own nothing you can recognize. Updates about two times a week, depends on how fast I can edit them. I hope you enjoy._

* * *

The flame of the fire grew dim, and soon, the only source of light was the reflection of the moon in the small river nearby. D'Artagnan sat with his back against a thick rock, and all of his senses were on high alert, scanning the environment for any signs of a threat. How were they going to explain all of this to the captain? Well, he only had to worry about that if they ever got back to Paris to meet Tréville face to face again. Right now, stuck in the middle of nowhere without their horses, they had other things to worry about.

They were lucky it was summer and the nights didn't get too cold, otherwise, they would be truly screwed.

His gaze fell on Aramis, leaning in an odd angle against a tree and his tired eyes staring at the river, his face giving away nothing about his thoughts. Even though he was obviously exhausted, d'Artagnan knew that neither of them would be able to get any sleep tonight. He glanced at the two figures on the ground, the little girl sleeping comfortably in the arms of her father, who was snoring very quietly and apparently feeling safe enough in the company of the two musketeers. Well, one technically, but even though the pauldron on his shoulder was missing, the Gascon knew that each of his brothers considered him a musketeer already.

Suddenly, he heard a faint snapping of a branch in the distance, followed by a rustling noise in the bushes. He shot a look at Aramis, who returned the worried look and grabbed the hilt of his rapier, then using his foot to gently tap the sleeping man on the ground. He woke up loudly and d'Artagnan put a finger above his mouth to shush him.

„What…?" he hissed.

„Get behind me…," d'Artagnan murmured and stood up, shoving the man and his half-asleep daughter behind him.

Now he heard steps in the distance, which neither he nor Aramis caused. D'Artagnan closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself.

He only hoped Athos and Porthos were already on their way back to them. Assuming, they even knew where to find them.

* * *

 _7 days earlier, The Garrison, Paris_

„Get up, whelp, we don't have all day! "

D'Artagnan blinked a few times and saw Porthos' face right above him. Startled, he rose from his bed in his room at the garrison, ran a hand through his hair and looked up to his friend. Porthos quickly dropped the Gascon's swords and pistols next to the bed. Constance said she needed the room he was renting for a business partner of her husbands, therefore, d'Artagnan asked Tréville if he could let him sleep at the garrison for a week, even though he wasn't a musketeer yet.

„What? " was all d'Artagnan managed to say and pointed at his belongings Porthos had just thrown on the ground.

„The captain has a mission, and you are coming with us."

The Gascon blinked again in confusion, his gaze tired and he yawned.

His vision cleared abruptly when Porthos gently slapped him, even though nobody would think you could use the words 'gently' and 'Porthos' in one sentence.

„Alright, alright, I'm coming."

He heard steps down the corridor and as he stood up to put on his doublet, he saw Athos in full uniform, casually leaning by the door, holding bread and a bottle of wine.

„Apologies, but this is urgent, we cannot wait any longer."

With that, he left, and Porthos and d'Artagnan quickly followed behind him.. The sun wasn't up yet, and the young recruit had trouble making out the exact time. What was it that Tréville wanted, so early in the morning?

In the court, he spotted their fourth member, Aramis, who was saddling their horses and was currently busy trying to get Athos' horse into its bridle. The large Friesian snuffled and backed away while Aramis very gently and calmly tried to pat his neck so he would stop dancing around the whole courtyard.

D'Artagnan and the others joined their companion and he heard Porthos snickering behind him at the sight they got.

Aramis heard and he turned around, his eyes furiously coming to rest on Porthos.

„Well, if you think you can do a better job, please, feel free to try!" he muttered sounding stressed. Porthos raised his hands in refusal but didn't stop smiling.

„Nah, I'm rather enjoying the show."

The horse reared up. Aramis took a step back and looked to Athos, who calmly chewed on his bread.

„Seriously Athos, I have no idea what you did to this animal. He is scared of anyone who doesn't show off your grumpy face when approaching".

Athos looked rather unimpressed and took a sip from his wine.

„You know I spend a lot of time with him. It's not my fault he fell in love with his rider."

A grin passed Aramis' face and he walked up to Athos.

„In that case...," he said, throwing the bridle into his friend's hands before grabbing the bottle of wine, „I think you are fully capable of getting your horse ready by yourself."

Athos glanced at him and the bottle that has been taken out of his hands, but then he shrugged.

„Very well. Don't want you to get hurt by a moody horse, right? "

Aramis raised an eyebrow as an answer.

„I appreciate your concern, my friend".

D'Artagnan smiled and mounted his own horse.

Athos quickly had the horse under control and d'Artagnan noticed Aramis watching it with a sour glare.

„Wait, Athos!"

That was Tréville's voice echoing through the courtyard. Athos turned to look at the captain.

„You have to hurry. I want you to be back by Tuesday. And stay safe, all of you!"

Athos and the others nodded and the four of them quickly left the court. They stayed silent until they made it out of the centre of Paris and once they felt safe between the large trees covering their way, d'Artagnan broke the silence.

„Can somebody now finally explain to me what the hell we are doing?"

„Shh!" Athos interrupted harshly and d'Artagnan followed his gaze, seeing there were civilians coming in their direction.

They waited until they were a good distance away and Aramis made sure there was nobody near them by scouting the environment.

„The king wants us to escort someone back to Paris," Athos explained calmly.

D'Artagnan stared at him.

„Alright, who?"

„The nobleman's name is Juan Vabrino. We are picking him up in Nantes."

„Juan Vabrino?" D'Artagnan frowned. „That sounds…"

„Spanish?" Aramis interrupted. „Well observed, lad."

D'Artagnan just glared at him.

„He is a representative of King Philip. Seems like he and Louis have some things to discuss. He also seems to be carrying some rather important information for our king. He is a high ranking member of the Spanish court, so he needs the best protection he can get in this country," Aramis continued.

„Relations with Spain are a little bit strained," Athos added. „The French people don't trust them, that's why we need to make sure this ambassador arrives in Paris safe and sound."

D'Artagnan nodded.

„And why are you taking me with you? I'm not even a musketeer yet."

„Just because you are not wearing the uniform yet, it doesn't mean you are not a musketeer," Athos declared. „And to get that uniform, you just need to prove to Louis that you are ambitious enough. Which you undoubtedly are, at least that's what I thought. Would you prefer to stay at the garrison polishing other musketeers' swords?"

D'Artagnan shrugged.

„Well, at least that would be less dangerous. And I could get a couple of hours more sleep."

Porthos laughed.

„Yeah, sure. But, where's the fun and excitement in that, huh?"

The Gascon joined his laughter.

„You know me too well, my friend."

Porthos winked and Athos and Aramis in front of them sped up, pushing their horses into a soft gallop.

„Our schedule is tight. We need to be back as soon as possible, so don't expect to get much rest, eh?"

And Porthos' horse followed the ones of his friends.

D'Artagnan shook his head.

„What did I get myself into here?" he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

„What?"

Aramis' sharp hearing struck again and d'Artagnan quickly strengthened his grip on the reins.

„Nothing. I'm coming!"

* * *

That evening, they arrived in a small village. They had been travelling the whole day, and their horses were exhausted. As they entered the village, the farmers stopped and looked up at them with wide eyes.

„What are they staring at?" Porthos whispered angrily, his eyes shining with disapproval.

„The uniforms, Porthos," Athos replied smoothly and ordered his horse to stop in front of an inn.

Porthos raised an eyebrow.

„The uniforms?" he repeated slowly and checked his as if there was any mud on it.

„Look at the size of this village, mon ami…," Aramis said and jumped off his horse with as much elegance as only Aramis could muster. „They have probably never seen musketeers like us. Probably just some red guards when they come to collect the taxes."

D'Artagnan took a look around.

The people were indeed staring at them, and as he looked closer, he could see fear in their eyes. He began to wonder what happened the last time they got a visit from Paris, but right now, he didn't dare to ask.

The owner of the inn, a short man with a dark moustache, opened the door and joined his people outside. They were all looking at him, as if it was his job to ask the questions, but Athos was faster. He held his horse's reins in his left hand and placed his right fist on his chest.

„Good evening, Monsieur … ?"

„Dechaine," the man answered in a skeptical tone. „Who are you and what do you want? "

"Well, a warmer welcome, for starters," Aramis commented dryly.

D'Artagnan exchanged a worried look with Porthos, as they were both still mounted on their wasn't impressed at all with the man's behaviour and simply tilted his head.

„My name is Athos, and these are my companions Porthos, d'Artagnan and Aramis. We are musketeers and on our way to complete a mission for King Louis. We ask for shelter, some food and drink until we leave before dawn."

„Musketeers?" Monsieur Dechaine asked and then his gaze wandered to the shoulder pauldrons of Athos, Porthos and Aramis.

He immediately nodded and held out a hand.

„Of course. The king's musketeers, visiting our small village to rest on behalf of the King's business. Welcome, please, come in. We cannot give away a lot for free, but we shall offer what we have."

Athos got a few coins of gold out of his pocket and held it in a stretched out hand.

„We may be musketeers, but we are also citizens of France. We pay as any other person would as well."

Monsieur Dechaine frowned, but then he offered a smile to Athos, who gave the reins of his horse to Aramis and walked straight into the inn.

Aramis rolled his eyes, and then he turned to Monsieur Dechaine.

„Monsieur, is there someone to take care of our horses? They are exhausted and need to regain their strength when we leave so early tomorrow."

The innkeeper nodded.

„Betrand, Gustave!" he barked.

Two young boys, maybe fifteen years old, stepped forward.

Aramis handed their horses to them.

„Thank you!" he added, took off his hat and followed Athos into the inn.

* * *

An hour later, d'Artagnan found himself sitting at a table with Athos, finishing his stew and emptying a glass of wine. The inn was full of people; it seemed as if the whole village came here to enjoy their evening. It was loud due to the number of conversations held.  
Porthos was seated at the table next to them, playing cards with a young man. Porthos' eyes were fixed on the face of his opponent, obviously trying to read his mind.

Aramis on the other hand was standing at the bar, chatting with a young woman. She was probably in her mid-twenties, long, brown hair falling over her shoulders and in a neat dress. Aramis offered her a charming smile more than once, while Monsieur Dechaine, probably her father, watched them with a disapproving look on his face.

That left d'Artagnan at a table with Athos, who switched from a glass of wine to a bottle of it, but thankfully, he wouldn't get another one. The bartender informed them they were out of wine, but they were expecting another delivery in the morning.

D'Artagnan shook his head while throwing a look at Porthos and Aramis.

„Unbelievable…," he muttered.

Athos raised an eyebrow.

„You know you are not forced to sit here with me, right? You can go play cards too, or talk to the beautiful girl who keeps staring at you."

He motioned to the young girl seated in the corner of the building, who was indeed watching the Gascon with a curious look on her face. D'Artagnan said nothing, and Athos' interest returned to his bottle.

D'Artagnan was horrible at playing cards, and Porthos never failed to remind him of this. And flirting with another girl didn't feel right, even though his relationship with Constance was a difficult one, but despite everything, she owned his heart.

Athos finished his bottle, took a look around and stood up.

„We need to get up early tomorrow. I'm going to bed."

D'Artagnan rose from his seat as well.

„Yeah, me too. I'm tired."

Athos nodded.

„Goodnight."

„Wait, Athos?"

The older man turned around again, looking at him expectantly.

„What about Porthos and Aramis? They need to get up early too."

Athos' mouth formed a crooked smile.

„They are grown men, d'Artagnan. They can do whatever they want this evening as long as they are ready to leave before dawn without any complaints."

Now it was d'Artagnan's turn to look amused.

„You know at least one of them is going to complain tomorrow."

Athos went up the stairs, and the Gascon followed as they headed to their rented rooms. Before Athos closed his door, he turned to d'Artagnan again to give him an answer.

„I said they are grown men, I never said they behave like ones."

D'Artagnan chuckled and entered his room.

„Goodnight, Athos."


	2. Unknown enemy

_Thanks for the lovely feedback I've received, and also to Jmp and Julie Pettitt, who I can't respond to personally. This chapter is still some building up, but we'll get some action in the third one. Excuse my Spanish skills, it's been some years. Enjoy!_

* * *

Thanks to Athos' inner clock, they were all woken before dawn. D'Artagnan gathered his stuff, gratefully accepted the apple offered to him by Monsieur Dechaine and joined the others outside. The horses were ready, Aramis and Athos already mounted. Only Porthos was still missing.

Athos nodded as he saw him, but didn't say a word.

„Good morning, d'Artagnan!" Aramis greeted him.

D'Artagnan couldn't help but look surprised.

„Didn't expect you to be so…relaxed this morning. Thought you had a rather long night."

Aramis grinned.

„I had a lovely and comfortable night. I'm perfectly fit to continue our journey today."

He really seemed very much awake and rested. This couldn't apply to Porthos, who came stumbling out of the front door, his face tired and dark circles under his eyes. He looked as if he hadn't slept at all.

„Rough night?" Aramis asked with an amused smile on his face.

„Don't ask. I know he cheated and I slept for maybe an hour."

Aramis and d'Artagnan smirked.

„Ready to leave now?" Athos asked with his usual indifferent tone in his voice and took the reins of his horse.

Porthos shot him an angry look.

„Yes, Athos. I am beyond excited to spend the next few hours in the saddle, seeing nothing but old trees and rocks." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Athos' facial expression was as close to amusement as it could get.

"That's good to hear," he replied dryly.

D'Artagnan put his foot in the stirrup and lifted himself on his horse.

„Told you one of them was going to complain, Athos!" he whispered to the older musketeer.

„I never doubted your words," was the only response he got.

Athos bowed his head to Monsieur Dechaine.

„Thank you, Monsieur, for your kind hospitality."

Monsieur Dechaine glared angrily at Aramis, probably because of last night, but then he returned the respectful gesture.

„My pleasure. Until we meet again."

And Athos spurred his horse into action. Aramis lifted his hat and rode straight behind Athos. Porthos, still complaining, was also mounted on his horse and soon, all four of them were on the road again.

The next few days' travelling wasn't really enjoyable. They stopped at an inn one more time, the rest of the nights, they spent on the road around a small campfire. Their bodies ached from all the time they spent in the saddle, but they didn't have much of a choice.

It was day five now, and the sun was already up very high in the sky. They were riding on a road next to a river, surrounded by old trees on one side and open fields on the other side. Porthos was telling a story to Aramis, something about a man he brawled with a week ago at a bar, when a scream pierced the air.

All four musketeers drew their weapons and forced their poor horses into a gallop. Soon, they spotted a carriage, with its contents totally destroyed and demolished on the road. Two people were down in the grass, a woman bending over a man, probably her husband.

She immediately looked up as she heard the musketeers approaching, panic written all over her face.

"Please," she cried and pointed in a northern direction, "They attacked us out of nowhere. We don't want them to come back!"

D'Artagnan noticed that the man lying in the grass was bleeding from a nasty cut on his arm as well as from another cut at the side of his chest.

"Aramis, see what you can do, d'Artagnan, make sure the area is safe. Porthos, with me," Athos ordered and the two forced their horses to their limits as they took off in the direction the woman told them.

Aramis jumped off his horse without hesitation and approached the couple. The woman's eyes were wide with fear and even though she seemed to know they wouldn't do any harm, she held out her hands in a defensive gesture.

"Madame, my name is Aramis of the king's musketeers; please allow me to take a look at your husband."

Tears streamed down her face, but she nodded and seemed to calm herself.

"Madame, what happened?" d'Artagnan asked

"A group of five men, their faces covered with masks. They attacked us, destroyed our belongings and took our horse."

"D'Artagnan, my kit," Aramis demanded and held out a hand without looking up. D'Artagnan quickly followed his demand and Aramis began to clean the cuts.

"They won't need stitching, just make sure you keep it clean and bandaged. It should be healed within a week."

D'Artagnan turned to the woman again.

"Any idea who the attackers might have been? Do you have any enemies?"

She shook her head.

"We are farmers; we were just in the next village to sell our corn. There was no need to attack us. And all they took was the horse."

The man hissed as Aramis bandaged the cut on his arm.

"Spanish," he muttered under his breath and Aramis froze.

"Excuse me?" he asked, not sure what he heard or if it was directed at him personally.

"They were Spanish. I heard them talk as they attacked us. Not really surprising, though."

They heard the thundering of hooves and within moments, Athos and Porthos rejoined them.

"Anything?" Aramis asked and helped the man into a sitting position. Athos shook his head and Porthos growled.

"These cowards escaped. They saw us, but they were already on the other side of this damn river."

Porthos looked frustrated.

"What do you mean not really surprising?" d'Artagnan addressed the woman again.

Athos' eyes wandered between them.

"Would you mind to fill us in?"

Aramis rose from his place in the grass, holding out a helping hand to the man.

"We just found out the attackers were Spanish," he explained casually.

"Spanish?" Porthos exclaimed and his voice sounded shocked.

The woman shrugged.

"Nothing new here. During the past few weeks, there have been multiple reports about Spanish raiders attacking innocent people on the road. There are rumours they are acting in the name of King Philip. At least, that's what they say. And this Spanish nobleman who arrived in Nantes a few days ago didn't really calm the spirit of the people. They are angry."

Porthos exhaled slowly.

"Can't say I blame them. Once we return to Paris, the King will learn of this, we promise."

The man nodded.

"We have to thank you, Messieurs. Thank you for helping us. You are heading to Nantes, aren't you?"

D'Artagnan and Aramis mounted their horses again, and Athos nodded.

"Do you wish to travel with us the last hour to Nantes? You can get some help there."

The man nodded.

"That would be too kind, especially with these raiders around."

"Alright."

The woman rode with d'Artagnan, and the man was seated behind Aramis. The horses were beyond exhausted, but within an hour, Nantes was in sight.

"Thank God," Aramis muttered, "about time we arrive."

Once they entered the city, their guests got off the horses and the couple bowed before them.

"Thank you, messieurs. We are forever in your debt," the man said.

D'Artagnan smiled.

"A pleasure. Take care."

"We will."

And then they left.

"So, where is this nobleman?" d'Artagnan asked and took a look around. Nantes wasn't very small so if they didn't know where to search; it could take them a day just to find Vabrino.

"Porthos, I need you to get the carriage. You know where to find it," Athos commanded.

Porthos groaned.

"Why can't Aramis do that for a change?" he complained. Athos raised an eyebrow.

"We are picking up a Spanish nobleman. Tell me, do you speak Spanish, Porthos?"

Porthos just stared back, having no witty reply for that.

"Next time, it's my turn to do that kind of work, mon ami," Aramis assured him, obviously trying to prevent his mouth from forming a triumphant smile.

Porthos nodded grumpily, jumped off his horse and tied his reins to Aramis' saddle.

"See you later." And he wandered off into the southern part of the city.

As Athos slowly steered his horse through the sea of people, Aramis answered d'Artagnan's question.

"We were told Vabrino still lives in his quarters on the Spanish ship waiting in the port. This city's guards are waiting at the port until we pick up Vabrino."

"And what is this information he is supposed to be carrying?"

Aramis looked amused.

"That's none of our business," Athos called over his shoulder. "We are soldiers, d'Artagnan. We do as we are told."

"Mostly," d'Artagnan added quietly and he heard Aramis chuckle next to him.

"Just between the two of us…," Aramis interjected and made sure Athos didn't hear what he said, "if we get attacked or killed during our task, I will make sure I know what I fight for. I don't want the incident with Bonnaire to repeat itself."

D'Artagnan snorted approvingly.

"Yeah. Couldn't agree more."

"Gentlemen," Athos shouted and interrupted their conversation. "We have arrived."

* * *

"And who are you?" the head of the city guards asked them, his hand on the hilt of his dagger. He eyed them all suspiciously.

The city's guards were lined up in defense in front of the Spanish ship, not letting anyone pass. Athos almost seemed annoyed, as he had been asked this question about ten times during their journey.

"Is this the ship of the Spanish diplomat, Juan Vabrino?" he responded without attempting to answer the guard's question first. The guard didn't take that well.

"Depends on who is asking," he spat angrily.

Athos reached into one of his saddlebags and pulled out a sealed letter, with the royal sigil.

"We are the King's musketeers. We are here to escort Juan Vabrino to Paris," Athos explained dryly.

The guard broke the sigil and unfolded the document, and d'Artagnan and his brothers in arms waited impatiently while he read the orders from King Louis.

"Are we allowed to enter now? Aramis asked and was already dismounting.

"The King sends just two musketeers and their musketeer-in-training to accompany Comte Juan Vabrino, Spanish diplomat and representative of King Phillip, on the road to Paris?" The guard's voice was full of disbelief.

"Good to know we have such a high reputation here", Aramis remarked in a sarcastic tone.

"Well, our fourth member is getting the carriage," d'Artagnan corrected smoothly and dismounted as well. "You let us enter now, or you are refusing obedience towards the crown."

The comment left even Athos impressed, and a small but proud smile flashed across his face.

Aramis nodded approvingly, and he and d'Artagnan now stood face to face with the guard, faces only inches apart.

"I suggest you let us enter and let us do our bloody job," d'Artagnan demanded as the guard made no attempt to let them on board.

"Damn, the boy's got balls…" he heard a faint whisper somewhere in the rows of the guards.

Their captain nodded now, his eyes locked on d'Artagnan, murdering the young man with a simple look.

"Let them pass," he growled between clenched teeth and stood aside.

Aramis saluted the captain with a winning smile on his face, grabbed the orders out of the captain's hands and boarded the ship, immediately followed by d'Artagnan. Athos stayed with the horses.

Two Spanish soldiers stood guard in front of the quarters. As soon as they spotted the musketeers, they knocked on the door.

Aramis and d'Artagnan patiently waited for a few minutes, until a man, about Athos' height with thick, black hair tied back in a low ponytail, dark brown eyes and ordinary clothes stepped out of the door. The only evidence of his noble heritage was the light blue cloak wrapped around his shoulders, decorated with golden and silver embroidery. Aramis and d'Artagnan bowed their heads before him in a respectful manner. The man nodded briefly, but with a friendly expression on his face.

D'Artagnan looked expectantly to Aramis, as he himself didn't speak a single word of Spanish.

"Buenos días, Seňor Vabrino. Me llamo Aramis, eso es d'Artagnan. Somos los mosqueteros del rey. Formamos vuestra escolta, Seňor."

Vabrino put up a hand to stop him.

"I appreciate your effort, but I am fluent enough in your language to speak it with you", he replied with a thick, Spanish accent, but it was easy to understand and d'Artagnan relaxed visibly.

Aramis tilted his head.

"As you wish. Are you ready to leave now?"

Vabrino nodded.

"Yes, we are."

Aramis furrowed his brow and exchanged a look with d'Artagnan, who had also noticed the plural in the sentence.

D'Artagnan raised his voice.

"Excuse me, seňor. We?"

He nodded vigorously and held out a hand behind his back.

A young girl, probably about ten or eleven years old, took his hand and shyly walked up next to her father. She had light brown curly hair and wore a dress in a rose tone. Her big, brown eyes stared fearfully at the strangers.

"Seňores, this is my daughter and only child, Diana. She is coming with us."

Aramis' features totally failed to cover his shocked reaction. D'Artagnan opened his mouth in an attempt to react, but not a word escaped from his lips.

"Beg your pardon?" Aramis exclaimed, a little sharper than he intended to.

D'Artagnan sensed someone behind him and as he turned around, he spotted Porthos, who had left the carriage with Athos and joined them on the deck.

"She isn't coming with us..," he now explained to Vabrino and pointed at the girl.

"And you are..?" one of the Spanish soldiers interjected.

"Porthos, King's musketeers," Porthos answered shortly and his attention returned to Vabrino.

He saw Aramis opening his mouth in an attempt to criticize Vabrino's decision, but Porthos put a hand on his friends shoulder.

"The road to Paris is dangerous. That is no place for a little girl."

Vabrino raised an eyebrow.

"Do I have to fear something? Is anyone after me?"

"There have been reports about Spanish raiders in the area to Paris," d'Artagnan replied bluntly, "It is dangerous."

The nobleman's face fell, and pure shock replaced his friendly expression.

"Raiders?" he repeated slowly as if he hadn't understood.

Aramis nodded.

"Yes. The road to Paris is not exactly safe."

Vabrino seemed to think about it for a second, and then he pressed his daughter against him and looked at the musketeers with a panicked look.

"Then we must hurry. I need to talk to King Louis as quickly as possible. And Diana is coming with us; she has nowhere else to go in this city. She won't be safe without me."

D'Artagnan swallowed hard, and thanks to Aramis' piercing glare, he didn't dare to ask why Vabrino reacted that way. He remembered what Athos told him earlier.

 _We are soldiers, we don't ask questions. We do as we are told_.

Porthos stepped forward.

"Seňor, with all my respect, I am asking you not to bring your daughter and let her return to…"

"You are going to protect us, right?" Vabrino interrupted.

Porthos blinked, stunned.

"Yes, of course we are," d'Artagnan answered in his place.

"And you are the King's elite guard. As long as you are protecting us, we don't need to worry."

The Gascon saw Aramis take in a deep breath, but then the marksman bowed his head again.

"As you wish. If you and your daughter would follow us then, please…"

Aramis and Porthos led them back to the carriage at the port, where Athos was waiting.

D'Artagnan walked behind the nobleman and his kid.

"Thank you", Vabrino said just as Athos tilted his head to greet him.

The three musketeers looked at him with confusion.

"For protecting and escorting me and my daughter. I don't take that for granted" he added.

Judging by the look of the three musketeers, d'Artagnan assumed they had never been thanked by anyone else than Tréville. They were truly surprised.

Athos quickly regained his polite but straight face.

"Don't thank us yet. We are not even close to Paris."

He opened the door of the carriage.

"And you are..?" Vabrino asked as he helped Diana to enter the vehicle.

"Athos, seňor."

Vabrino surveyed them all. Athos, with his usual indifferent facial expression, patiently waiting for him to enter the carriage. Porthos, with his broad shoulders and lightly grim look, sitting on the coach box. Aramis, his arms folded but a reassuring smile on his face. And d'Artagnan, standing tall, his face determined.

"So, Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan…," Vabrino said and nodded, "you don't know the details, but the current circumstances require us to get to Paris as fast as our horses allow us to. It is more important than you can imagine."

Aramis, Athos and d'Artagnan mounted their horses and Vabrino joined his daughter in the carriage.

"Ready?" Porthos asked, taking the reins of the harnessed horse.

Athos nodded.

"Let's go. Paris is waiting."


	3. Seperated

It turned out Vabrino was a very comfortable travelling-companion. They had stopped at an inn that evening and were now back on the road. The sun was up high, and it was hot.

Diana seemed to have bonded with Porthos, even though the giant musketeer didn't speak a word of Spanish and the young Spanish girl didn't understand even a little bit of French, but still they found a way to communicate and Diana seemed to trust Porthos. She even offered him some traditional Spanish food she kept in a little pocket of her light summer coat. Aramis had explained to d'Artagnan that Porthos always has been good with children, whenever he was forced to spend more than a minute with them.

They all took turns in driving the carriage, because it was more comfortable to sit on the coach box than to spend all the time on horseback. Despite complaints from Aramis and d'Artagnan, Porthos got to spend the most time on the carriage. Athos had to shut his friends up by stating 'Porthos was the most competent person in their company' to drive that carriage.

This had resulted in an argument between d'Artagnan and Aramis over who would take the second place on that list of competent carriage-drivers behind Porthos, and Athos continued to simply ignore them bickering, until he finally had enough.

"Alright, Porthos, back on your horse. D'Artagnan, you may take Porthos' place now."

D'Artagnan could almost hear Aramis take in a deep breath to protest, but the look Athos gave him shut him up before a single sound escaped his lips.

 _Enjoy,_ the marksman mouthed with a bitter expression to d'Artagnan, who just jumped off his horse with a triumphant smile and tied his horse's reins to Porthos' saddle, before Porthos mounted his horse again.

Once he was back on horseback, he and Aramis galloped ahead, inspecting the road they were about to travel.

As d'Artagnan took the reins of the horse bound to the carriage, he heard a knock behind him and Vabrino stuck his head out of the window.

"Everything okay?" he asked with his thick accent and tried to make eye-contact with Athos. The pensive musketeer nodded reassuringly.

"Just a change of positions again."

Vabrino couldn't help but chuckle.

"What for?"

A dangerous smile passed Athos' lips.

"So I can enjoy a little bit of silence."

Aramis and Porthos luckily were too far ahead of them to hear Athos' words. Since Athos wasn't really the one to talk during travelling, d'Artagnan enjoyed the nature's sounds, the birds singing and the noise of the water of the raging river nearby.

The faint sound of hooves pulled the Gascon out of his thoughts. Aramis and Porthos came back to them, both looking deadly serious.

"What?" Athos asked immediately.

Porthos motioned to be silent; Aramis brought his horse to a stop between the carriage and Athos' horse.

"We are not alone here," he hissed as quietly as he could. "Some riders. They are searching the area; I'm not sure whether they have seen us."

"Where exactly?" Athos responded urgently.

Aramis shook his head in a desperate manner.

"On this side of the river, we are surrounded. Not sure where they come from though. But I'm pretty sure they are armed."

"We need to cross the river as soon as possible, otherwise it will end up in a huge detour on the way to Paris," Porthos added, his eyes scanning the environment.

"Have you seen a bridge? The river is impossible to pass with horses and a carriage," Athos stated and looked at his two brother-in-arms expectantly.

Aramis nodded, but he hesitated for a second before answering.

"A few miles ahead. But it doesn't really look very stable. I won't say it's safe."

Athos closed his eyes for a brief second.

"Staying here isn't an option. Those riders, maybe those Spanish raiders, are surrounding us. We are French musketeers; they don't know who is in the carriage. We need to outrun them but still remain on our road to Paris. Who knows where the next bridge is."

Porthos looked at the Gascon.

"D'Artagnan?"

"Hm, what?"

Porthos snorted. "Care to give an opinion?"

"I'm with Athos. We don't have much of a choice if we want to have a chance to outrun these raiders before they may even attack us."

"Then it's settled," Porthos declared and all of them pushed the horses into a slight gallop.

D'Artagnan heard the faint thundering of hooves, and he realized what Aramis and Porthos just told him. They weren't alone here, and whoever it was, was a potential threat.

They soon arrived at the bridge, and Aramis was right, it did look anything but stable. The wood was rotten, and the bridge pier looked as if it was going to collapse any second. They came to a stop, the three musketeers on their horses in front of the carriage and d'Artagnan.

"What's the matter?" Vabrino asked and made an attempt to get out of the carriage.

"Senor, we need you to stay in there!" Athos urged him back into the vehicle.

"What is going on?" Vabrino asked sharply.

"The raiders. We are surrounded!" Porthos explained. "We need to cross the river."

The river was impossible to cross without a bridge. The dark water was raging beneath them; the streaming of the deep water was too harsh. Even someone as strong as Porthos couldn't withstand the force of it.

D'Artagnan's eyes scanned the area nervously, and he could swear he saw something far behind some of the trees. He was sure to have spotted a few horses and their riders.

"Athos," he called and motioned behind them. Athos understood immediately.

"Porthos, you are coming with me. If the bridge can carry the two of us, our horses and d'Artagnan's horse, it should be able to carry the weight of the carriage."

"Are you nuts?" d'Artagnan insisted, but Aramis shushed him.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" he addressed Athos instead. "The carriage still weighs a little more. You really think this is a good idea?"

Athos shook his head.

"We are running out of options here. We have to give it a shot."

Aramis nodded unconfidently, but knew they had no choice here.

Athos and Porthos pushed their horses into a slow and careful pace. As Porthos' horse put a hoof on the old wood, the bridge creaked under the weight. This was not very helpful in order to calm their nerves. Athos' horse followed, and d'Artagnan could swear he saw one of the beams bending. It felt like an eternity, but a few moments later, they saw Athos and Porthos safely on the other side of the river, both looking incredibly relieved.

"D'Artagnan!" Aramis suddenly hissed.

"What?" the Gascon replied anxiously.

"Hear that?"

D'Artagnan took a second to listen to all of the noises surrounding him. He heard the voices of Vabrino and his daughter, talking in Spanish in the carriage. He could also hear a faint comment from Porthos from the other side of the river. The rushing of the river's water, and the wind blowing through the branches and leaves. And, not so quiet, he made out voices. Male voices, shouting at each other, apparently in excitement and in action.

"They spotted us!" Aramis stated loud enough that Athos and Porthos could hear that as well.

"Come over, now! Aramis, you first!" Athos commanded.

Aramis shot d'Artagnan a doubtful look, but then he obeyed Athos' order. Carefully, he led his horse to the bridge and it slowly put its hooves on the wood. Aramis took a deep breath and dug his heel into the flank of the animal. Calmly, the mare took another step.

Then, all of the sudden, a shot rang out. D'Artagnan saw the ball of the musket burst into one of the rotten stakes carrying the weight of the bridge. The right front-leg of the mare sunk between two of the planks. The eyes of the horse went wide in panic and it reared up.  
Aramis clawed onto the reins and mane. Due to the forceful impact and with a loud and precise cracking sound, the loosened wood began to collapse into itself. The stakes were carried away by the strong current of the river and d'Artagnan heard Porthos shout.

"Aramis, get back!"

Aramis, still trying to regain the control over his horse, managed to calm her a bit and she danced backwards on her back hooves. The planks of the bridge were nearly gone, and between them and Athos and Porthos was nothing but dark, deep water. Aramis' horse finally got back on all four hooves, just before the front legs of the mare buckled and it crumbled to the ground. Aramis was able to free his leg in the last second out of the saddle.

"Merde," he cursed frustrated. He crouched over the animal, his gloved hands scanning the horses' legs.

"She can't go on" he finally stated.

That's when another shot echoed through the trees and missed the carriage and d'Artagnan only by inches.

"Move!" Athos barked from the opposite bank.

"Aramis!" d'Artagnan shouted and drew his pistol.

"We'll find you, we promise!" Porthos yelled as he and Athos were also spurred into action.

Aramis grabbed the bags attached to the saddle, threw them to Vabrino into the carriage and jumped up next to the Gascon on the coach box.

"Go!"

D'Artagnan urged the horse into a gallop, but it being a coach horse, it wasn't very fast. The wheels of the carriage weren't very good at withstanding the rocky and uneven forest floor at such a pace.

"There are three of them behind us," Aramis shouted over the noisy wind.

The marksman turned around with his pistol in his hands, aimed and pulled the trigger.  
D'Artagnan heard a soft cry and the thud of a man falling to the ground.

"Give me your pistol," the marksman demanded and held out a hand without even looking.

D'Artagnan didn't hesitate for a second and handed him his weapon, while trying to reload Aramis' pistol and focusing on driving the carriage at the same time.

Aramis landed another successful shot, then he quickly ducked behind the carriage's walls, forcing d'Artagnan's head with him into cover. The remaining attacker returned the fire, and the sound of the shots were deafening. D'Artagnan just hoped the back of the carriage was bulletproof, so Vabrino and Diana would be safe.

Aramis pulled the trigger of the pistol again just as the carriage hit a hole in the road. Instead of hitting the man, the bullet found its way into the neck of the attacker's horse.  
The animal fell to the ground and the rider was knocked off and left unconscious. The Gascon heard other voices, this time, coming from the side.

"Take the reins!" he told Aramis and the musketeer handed his younger companion the reloaded weapons before doing as he was told.

D'Artagnan was a little bit surprised. Aramis really seemed to trust him with his life if he just handed him his weapons like that, without even trying to argue. Aramis rushed the horse into a faster gallop and the carriage creaked awfully.

Behind the bushes and thick trees, d'Artagnan was finally able to make out the two men and he aimed with his pistol, still waiting for them to come nearer. Without muskets, they wouldn't be able to aim properly at that distance, and neither would d'Artagnan.

"I'm trying to get a little closer!" Aramis called over the noise.

"Are you insane? They will shoot our heads off. They have two pistols, I only have one shot!" d'Artagnan replied angrily, and he could swear he could hear Aramis' muffled laughter.

"Have some faith!" he commented, "They won't expect us to. Otherwise they are going to shoot our heads off either way."

D'Artagnan's quick-witted response got lost in the noise and he prepared himself. Aramis steered the horse to the right side of the road, and the riders were in d'Artagnan's line of fire.

The Gascon didn't waste any time, took his aim and fired. The ball hit the first attacker in the shoulder and knocked him off the horse. Surprised, the second attacker's horse lost its balance as it fell over the man on the ground. It crashed into a tree and while being thrown off his horse, the second man was able to fire. The ball missed d'Artagnan thanks to Aramis' quick evasive maneuver, but hit the carriage right above the wheel.

They were rocked to the side and missed a large tree trunk only by inches. Startled, the horse pulling the carriage came to an abrupt stop, his nostrils wide and it was panting hard. The carriage was slammed against the tree and d'Artagnan heard the wheel breaking.

Then, silence.

D'Artagnan took a second to gather himself and to process what has just happened.

"God," Aramis groaned next to him, took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. The Gascon could pinpoint the exact moment realization hit his friend, as Aramis jumped off the coach box and hurried to the carriage and their passengers.

"Seňor Vabrino!" he called. "Are you alright?"

D'Artagnan joined his friend and opened the door with a concerned look on his face. Vabrino looked shaken and his daughter was curled up in his arms, but he appeared to be unharmed.

"Sì, sì. Està bien."

"Y tù?" Aramis addressed Diana. The girl had tears streaming down her face and her face was a mask of fear, but she nodded shyly.

Aramis and d'Artagnan let out a breath of relief, and Aramis kissed the golden crucifix he always wore around his neck.

"Thank God."

"You think that was it?" d'Artagnan asked his older comrade.

Aramis' eyes were still wildly scanning the area and he shook his head.

"I don't know."

"No, there are more of them".

That was Vabrino's voice and despite d'Artagnan's protest, he left the carriage with his daughter by his side.

"How do you know?", Aramis asked suspiciously and furrowed his brow.

"Well, it used to be a secret, but you two just risked your life because of it…" he said honestly and swallowed hard, his gaze wandering between Aramis and d'Artagnan.

"They are after me…," he continued, "and they are the reason why we need to get to Paris as soon as possible."


	4. A rebellious Comte

_Thanks again for the lovely feedback you guys leave me every time, they always make my day. Also a thank you to the guest reviews I can't respond to personally._

* * *

"They are after you?" Aramis exclaimed, "and you didn't tell us when we mentioned they were attacking people here?"

Vabrino withstood Aramis' judging look.

"I needed you to bring me to Paris as fast as possible. Those raiders, there are more than just the five of them. And they are heading east, to Paris. What do you think your king will do when he learns Spanish cavalry are marauding and stealing from the villages?"

D'Artagnan began to free the horse from its reins which bound it to the carriage. He gently stroked the neck of the frightened animal, while Aramis replied to Vabrino.

"There are rumours they are following orders of King Philipp. If King Louis hears that…"

Vabrino's face grew pale.

"Who says that?"

Aramis shrugged.

"Apparently, the raiders themselves claim to act in the name of your king."

"No, no, no…" Vabrino whispered to himself.

He grabbed Aramis by the shoulder.

"I know I didn't give you a reason to trust me, but you have to believe me. Those are not people acting in the name of his majesty, King Philipp. Those are criminals, freed from a Spanish prison, following the orders of a disloyal _conde_ they are indebted to. I will tell you everything I know, but right now, we really need to get away from here, to safety and to Paris."

Aramis let those words sink in, and he exchanged a look with d'Artagnan. The marksman raised a brow, as if to ask the Gascon's opinion.

D'Artagnan gave a small nod, and continued to calm the horse which was now only attached to the reins the young cadet held in his hands.

"Well, the carriage is broken…," Aramis stated as he checked the damage on the wheel, "at least we still have one horse. But it cannot carry all of us. And since you don't want to be separated from your daughter, which I can totally understand, but I won't let you go anywhere without protection, we will have to continue on foot."

Suddenly, Aramis' head shot up and his eyes were locked on something only he could see between the thick branches.

"Look out!" he yelled at d'Artagnan.

A deafening shot rang out and d'Artagnan managed to hide his head behind the horse's neck at the last second. The ball scraped the back of the horse, tearing through fur and skin. The horse nickered and broke free, ripping d'Artagnan with it at his wrist before he quickly managed to drop the reins. Aramis reacted immediately, circling the carriage and he shot the attacker, the man previously thrown off his horse, before he could make another move.

"So much for the horse then…" d'Artagnan cursed and locked his good hand around his wrist.

"You okay?" Aramis shot him a concerned look and carefully took the younger man's wrist.

"Not broken," he diagnosed.

"No, still hurts like hell though. We need to get out of here, Aramis."

"I know."

"We can't outrun them without the horses!" Vabrino interjected.

D'Artagnan noticed that Aramis' polite expression faltered and was replaced by a stressed and annoyed face. Before the musketeer could say something he might regret later, d'Artagnan put a hand on his friends shoulder to calm him down.

"No, we can't," the Gascon replied and faced the Spanish nobleman, "but we can run and hide, and survive until our brothers find us."

"What makes you so certain they will find us?" Vabrino asked with the most innocent expression he could muster.

"They will find us," Aramis snapped. "They will."

"We will protect you with our lives, Seňor," d'Artagnan argued. "We don't have an alternative. You need to trust us with this."

Vabrino nodded.

"I trust you two. Lead the way."

Aramis grabbed his saddlebags from the carriage.

"Let's go then."

* * *

Athos and Porthos galloped along the river bank and followed the road. Athos had seen Aramis jump on the coach box next to d'Artagnan, yelling something. They followed them and listened to the distant shots, but the road Aramis and d'Artagnan took a turn away from the river and they were out of sight.

Still, the two musketeers kept their pace and they heard another two shots. Then there was silence.

Athos finally urged his horse to stop as it was panting hard due to the sprint and the exhaustion was overwhelming him as well. He sensed Porthos by his side, jumping off his horse and taking his and d'Artagnan's horse by the reins.

"The horses cannot go on. We need to rest. We pushed them too much."

Athos' face was like stone, but he nodded.

"We don't have much of a choice here, do we?" His voice was dripping with irony.

Porthos eyed him suspiciously.

"It's not your fault, 'thos. If those bastards hadn't spooked Aramis' horse, they all would have made it to the other side. Don't blame yourself."

Athos shook his head, but threw his friend a thankful look.

"We need to get to the other side of this damn river."

Porthos growled approvingly and stared into the water of the river.

Athos recognized the look on the musketeer's face, the look he had before he planned to do something incredibly stupid.

"Don't even think about it, Porthos," Athos warned, "not even you can withstand the force of this water. Who knows how deep it is. And besides, the horses would never make it. And how are we supposed to catch up with d'Artagnan and Aramis if we go by foot?"

Porthos clenched his teeth.

"Yes, I know."

Another shot echoed through the forest and even Athos couldn't help but flinch. The second shot followed barely two seconds later.

"Damn it!" Porthos yelled and in his anger and frustration, he punched and kicked the bushes nearby.

"Stop it!" Athos hissed. "Who knows if there are some raiders on this side of the river as well."

"Then what do you suggest?" Porthos whispered angrily.

Athos exhaled slowly and closed his eyes for a brief second as he made the decision.

"We wait until the horses had the chance to recover a little bit. Then we will go as fast as we can to the next bridge and find the others."

Porthos bit his lip, thinking.

"Sounds like the best option. I just hate standing here and not being able to do anything."

Athos could see that Porthos was worrying about Aramis and d'Artagnan, possibly also about Vabrino and Diana.

"They are going to be fine, Porthos," Athos assured him and squeezed his shoulder. "Aramis and d'Artagnan are two of the best men I know. They will fight those raiders off and get themselves to safety. They know we will come for them. And regarding Vabrino and Diana, you shouldn't worry. Aramis and d'Artagnan know their duty; they would give their lives to protect them."

Porthos looked up to him and the words he spoke sent chills down the swordsman's back.

"I know. And that's exactly what I am scared of."

* * *

They headed east, into the woods and away from the road. Aramis said that nobody would be able to detect their footprints in all the grass and moss covering the forests floor.

D'Artagnan's wrist pounded, but he didn't complain. He needed himself and Aramis to focus on more important things right now.

As time passed, and d'Artagnan felt like it was safe enough and since he didn't hear any more threatening noises the last two hours, the Gascon suggested they set up a camp near a small creek.

Diana was obviously very tired, and Vabrino and Aramis looked as if they could use a break as well.

"Good spot," Aramis commented as he inspected the small area, covered by a lot of rocks and bushes only open to the side of the creek.

"We might even be able to make a fire here, I can go get some wood," d'Artagnan offered.

Aramis nodded.

"Good idea".

Half an hour later, they were all seated around a little campfire. Not that it was too cold, but Aramis caught a fish in the creek nearby. They also had some bread from Aramis' saddlebags and some fruit Vabrino brought in his bag.

D'Artagnan offered his last piece of fish to Diana, and she accepted it with a grateful smile. Even though she hesitated, d'Artagnan considered it a win.

Aramis was unusually quiet, and he just stared into the flames, his mind elsewhere. D'Artagnan didn't need to guess what he was thinking. The marksman was trying to put the pieces together, to understand what had happened that led to them being chased by Spanish criminals.

D'Artagnan remembered what Aramis had said in Nantes.

 _If we get attacked or killed during our task, I will make sure to know what I fight for. I don't want the incident with Bonnaire to repeat itself._

Athos wasn't the one for asking questions. He would focus on the task and fight first as he was told, then he would ask later, most of the time Tréville, and then try to fix it afterwards, just as they all did with Bonnaire.

Ever since the incident with Bonnaire, where they were forced to protect a slave-trader, it changed something for them.

No matter why those criminals were after Vabrino, Aramis was still a soldier and would fulfill his orders. But, just like d'Artagnan, he liked to know what he was fighting for and what kind of people he was protecting. And not knowing the whole story, even though it was officially none of his business, drove him crazy, and d'Artagnan really couldn't hold that against him.

"You are probably wondering what happened, right?"

Vabrino addressed Aramis, noticing the unusual behavior as well, even though he barely knew the man.

The marksman's head shot up.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't have to be a genius to see that you want to know why those riders are after us."

"It's none of my business," Aramis retorted coldly with a bitter expression.

Vabrino leaned forward to look him in the eyes.

"I made it yours the moment I put my life and my daughter's life into your hands. Both of you…," and his gaze wandered to d'Artagnan, "…have earned the right to know why I need to speak to King Louis."

Aramis and d'Artagnan said nothing, they just stared.

"I'm a nobleman, and I spent a lot of my childhood at the royal court. I have known my king since he was a child. He still considers me one of his closest friends, that's why I am here. I need to make things right and if I don't get to Paris to talk to King Louis, he will think these raiders are a traitorous act by King Philip."

"But who sent these raiders? Who freed them from the Spanish prison?" d'Artagnan burst out. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aramis nodding in agreement.

"My brother-in-law. My sister's husband, Victor. It was an arranged marriage. He is a _conde_ , just as I am. We always had our personal differences, but he got in a fight with King Philip. He wasn't happy that his majesty wants to avoid open war, since France supports Sweden and the Netherlands, but avoids open war. He said it was a disgrace to serve a king who thinks like that. King Philip expelled him from the palace, but Victor visited me later. Said he blames me for the all the King's decisions, which, by the way, is total nonsense. He said if no one else does it, he has to act. He has always been a brutal and cruel man, not very intelligent, and incredibly arrogant."

"So now he wants to give our king a reason to declare war, is that what you are trying to say?" d'Artagnan concluded slowly.

Vabrino nodded.

"A royal prison was built on his estate. He freed the prisoners and indebted them to him. When King Philip heard of what was going on, he immediately sent me out as an ambassador, to go and tell Louis that this is none of his making. That he will take care of it and pay for all the damage done."

Aramis lifted an eyebrow.

"Then why doesn't he do anything? I'm talking about Philip."

A flash of anger crossed the diplomat's face.

"Victor vanished; the whole country is looking for him. And for those raiders, Philip wants and needs permission to cross the border with his troops or he requires the help of King Louis."

Aramis scowled.

"Yes, so in the meantime it will be our task to protect innocent people from brutal criminals."

Vabrino said nothing.

"But first, we need to get to Paris. Otherwise, your dearest brother-in-law may succeed.", d'Artagnan stated.

Vabrino nodded, sadly.

Aramis pressed his lips together.

"So you are on a mission to sustain peace?"

Vabrino nodded again, more vigorously.

"My one and only goal, I swear."

"Is that why you brought your daughter?" d'Artagnan asked curiously, "because you were scared what might happen to her as long as Victor is running around freely?"

Vabrino leaned back again.

"Have you ever been truly hated by someone, Monsieur d'Artagnan?"

D'Artagnan hesitated and thought for a second.

"Not in a way that can be compared to your situation I think."

"I hate him. From the bottom of my heart. My sister is his prisoner, she helped him, but she has no evil heart. I'm not letting him have my daughter. While my king makes sure he is arrested, I'm trying to keep the peace between France and Spain."

Aramis smiled, for the first time since they were attacked. He put a hand on his chest, and bowed slightly.

"Thank you for your honesty, Seňor. I assure you we are doing everything within our power to get you and your daughter to safety. You should get some rest, we'll stand guard."

"You are probably right," Vabrino agreed.

He lay down next to the fire, but didn't close his eyes in an attempt to sleep.

"Your comrades," he said and d'Artagnan was painfully remembered that two of his brothers weren't here with them. But they were also their only hope to get out of this unscathed.

"They seem like good men."

"The best," Aramis corrected with a reassuring smile on his face.

"Are you two sure they are going to come for us?"

"Yes, we are," d'Artagnan replied, totally convinced. "They would never let us down."

Aramis' face was determined.

"There will never be a day I doubt that my brothers will come for me, seňor. They will come for us. They are just relying on us to survive in the meantime. It's the promise of our brotherhood, and I'm not ready to break this promise. Neither are they."

D'Artagnan glared at the marksman.

"Never knew you could be such a poet," he joked and Aramis winked.

"Then you still have a lot to learn."

Diana was drawing something in the dirt. D'Artagnan decided to try and talk to her in some way, to take some of her fear away.

He crouched down next to the young girl.

"What are you drawing?" he asked curiously and pointed at the lines in the dirt.

She looked at him, confused.

"Qué…qué…?" God, his Spanish was bad.

He desperately looked over to Aramis.

"Qué dibujas," Aramis whispered amused.

"Qué dibujas?" d'Artagnan posed his question.

Diana trembled a little bit, but she seemed to get more comfortable.

"El carruaje," she responded with her high voice and d'Artagnan assumed that she meant the carriage as it was also what he would have recognized in the drawing.

D'Artagnan gave her a warm smile, and the young girl shyly repaid his smile.

"You should go to sleep," he recommended and pointed to her father, already waiting for her next to the campfire.

She understood and quickly crawled over to her father, trying to sleep.  
Soon, Vabrino was fast asleep and Diana curled up in a fetal position, and Aramis and d'Artagnan still awake, their senses on high alert.

"You know it could be worse," Aramis admitted.

"Really?" D'Artagnan couldn't see the bright side of this.

Aramis snorted.

"Yes. One of us could have ended here alone."

"I'll celebrate as soon as we get out of here," d'Artagnan replied even though he gave Aramis a smile. "By the way, any ideas? Where are we supposed to go?"

Aramis' face was serious again.

"Honestly, I don't know. I hope we don't need to find out because Porthos and Athos find us first. But judging by the look of that river, I doubt that they will arrive soon. We will figure it out, d'Artagnan. We will. Have some faith."

The flame of the fire grew dim, and soon, the only source of light was the reflection of the moon in the small creek nearby. D'Artagnan sat with his back against a thick rock, and all of his senses were on high alert, scanning the environment for any signs of a threat. How were they going to explain all of this to the captain? Well, he only had to worry about that if they ever got back to Paris to meet Tréville face to face again. Right now, stuck in the middle of nowhere without their horses, they had other things to worry about.

They were lucky it was summer and the nights didn't get too cold, otherwise, they would be truly screwed.

His gaze fell on Aramis, leaning at an odd angle against a tree and his tired eyes staring at the river, his face giving away nothing about his thoughts. Even though he was obviously tired, d'Artagnan knew that neither of them would be able to get any sleep tonight. He glanced at the two figures on the ground, the little girl sleeping comfortably in the arms of her father, who was snoring very quietly and apparently feeling safe enough in the company of the two musketeers. Well, one technically, but even though the pauldron on his shoulder was missing, the Gascon knew that each of his brothers considered him a musketeer already.

Suddenly, he heard a faint snapping of a branch in the distance, followed by a rustling noise in the bushes. He shot a look at Aramis, who returned the worried look and grabbed the hilt of his rapier, then used his foot to gently tap the sleeping man on the ground. He woke up loudly and d'Artagnan put a finger above his mouth to shush him.

"What…?" he hissed.

"Get behind me…" d'Artagnan murmured and stood up, shoving the man and his half-asleep daughter behind him.

Now he heard steps in the distance, which neither he nor Aramis caused. D'Artagnan closed his eyes and took in a deep breath to calm himself.

He only hoped Athos and Porthos were already on their way back to them. Assuming, they even knew where to find them.


	5. Escape

Aramis gestured to slowly back away. He took his pistol from his belt and held it out in front of him, while moving backwards. D'Artagnan and Aramis made sure Vabrino and Diana were covered by them.

Why were they not hearing any shots? Why was nobody trying to shoot them?

D'Artagnan realized why the moment he heard the clang of steel and five men came into sight, holding their rapiers out in front of them.

Aramis and d'Artagnan both aimed and fired immediately, their shots echoing simultaneously through the dead of the night. They didn't have the time to reload.

Both of them pulled their rapiers and parried the blows from their enemies, still staggering backwards.

Two men were attacking d'Artagnan at the same time and he dived under his opponent's blade and it got stuck in the thick wood of a tree. D'Artagnan grabbed his startled attacker and whirled him around, using him as a shield as the second attacker brought his sword down, but he missed. Suddenly, Aramis was there, stabbing the second man in the back and d'Artagnan quickly finished off the last one.

A gurgling sound made them twirl around.

One of the men they had shot was lying on the ground, his eyes wide open, his hand desperately clamping down on the wound in his chest.

Aramis crouched down next to him.

"Dónde están tus compaňeros?" he asked, with a panicked tone in his voice.

The man tried to focus on Aramis, but his eyes were locked on Vabrino. His face formed a disgusting grin.

"La mensaje ha llegado a París. Nunca llegareis a tiempo allí."

"Bastardo…," Vabrino shouted and made an attempt to punch the man but d'Artagnan held him back.

"It's over for him. Leave it be."

The gurgling noises died down and soon, there was only silence.

Aramis closed the man's eyes and whispered something d'Artagnan couldn't make out, before kissing the crucifix around his neck.

The marksman then rose from the ground, holstered his pistol and attached his rapier to his belt.

"What did he say?" the Gascon wanted to know, his voice urgent.

Aramis just stared.

"He said the message has already reached Paris. That we will not arrive there in time," Vabrino answered instead.

"As long as the two of us are still breathing," Aramis growled, "you will arrive in Paris. No matter what they say."

"He could have lied," d'Artagnan speculated and Aramis nodded in acknowledgment.

"He could. But that doesn't make a difference, since we don't know for sure."

Vabrino paced on the forest floor, restlessly.

"You know your king better than I do," he indicated, "Do you think he would wait for me before doing something everyone might regret later on?"

"Tréville will make sure the king awaits your arrival," Aramis replied confidently.

"Who's Tréville?" Vabrino sounded confused.

"Our captain," d'Artagnan returned smoothly, "However, the cardinal is a totally different story."

"The captain will buy us as much time as he can," was Aramis' simple response.

"What do we do?" d'Artagnan enquired earnestly, his keen eyes scanning the forest for any more threats, but he saw none.

Aramis grabbed him by the shoulder.

"We should move. Now."

"Where are we going?" Vabrino asked and held his daughter by the hand.

Aramis ran a hand through his curly hair, thinking.

"We need to find cover somewhere," d'Artagnan suggested and Aramis agreed. "I think I know where we are. About two miles from here is an abandoned barn of an old farm."

Aramis looked seriously surprised.

"How do you know that?"

"My father and I rested there when we travelled to Paris once."

Aramis patted his shoulder, impressed.

"Then, let's not waste anymore time. We might find shelter there."

* * *

"Finally!" Porthos exclaimed relieved as he spotted the dark contour of a bridge in the distance.

They had got back on the road in the middle of the night, and it was early morning now.

"About time," Athos commented and wasn't able to hide the nervous tone in his voice. The two of them were driven by worry and anxiety, and they were craving for any trace of their lost brothers and their Spanish guests.

This bridge looked a lot more stable than the other one, and the two musketeers didn't have to be careful as they crossed it.

"What now?" Porthos asked indecisive, "Go back and try to find their trail or just search the area since they have to be here somewhere?"

Athos raised a brow.

"We should go back and try to find their trail. It's our best shot. Without a trail, it could take days to find them, and they don't have the time."

Porthos nodded, gently pushed his feet into his stallion's flank and they made their way back to where they had last seen their brothers.

Time passed, and the two musketeers still were on the road when the midday sun was high up in the sky.

"Athos!" Porthos suddenly hissed and forced his horse to stop.

"What is it?"

Horror was written the giant musketeer's face as he pointed to something just beyond the corner.

 _The carriage._

The horse was missing and its wheel was broken.

"You see anyone?" Porthos asked, desperation written across his face. Athos shook his head, but he dismounted and threw a look into the carriage.

"Their bags are not here. Vabrino and his daughter are not here either."

"Over here!" he heard Porthos shout and he hurried and saw Porthos bending over a body on the floor.

"Who is that?" Athos asked coldly, to cover the fear that was slowly creeping into his consciousness.

"None of them," Porthos breathed relieved, "One of the attackers."

Athos knelt down next to his friend and took a look at the body.

"Must've been shot yesterday. Probably during the chase." He lifted his head and cast a look back at the vehicle. "The carriage was damaged and they continued on foot. But where did they go?"

Porthos pointed towards the woods.

"Aramis would've gone there. It's difficult to trace them there, they must have been followed. But Athos…"

Porthos stared at him and swallowed down the lump in his throat.

"If there are so many of these raiders here, why is nobody after us? We are French musketeers after all," he continued.

Athos closed his eyes as realization hit him.

"Because they are not after the musketeers. They are after the ones they are protecting."

He took a deep breath and looked at Porthos, his face frozen, his eyes the only evidence of the worry that definitely got hold of him by now.

"They are after Vabrino and his daughter. We must hurry."

* * *

"This is an impertinence!"

King Louis XIII. paced through the throne room angrily. Queen Anne was deep in thought on her seat next to the king's throne, her mind was elsewhere.

"Your majesty, we cannot let Philip do whatever he pleases. We have to answer, immediately!"

Richelieu was standing next to Tréville, his face a mask of hate.

The king looked at his first minister with a doubtful gaze.

"You mean, a military move against Spain? That's not the solution. How dares he? Sending his men, attacking innocent French civilians."

"The people are already saying you are incompetent and leave them to their fate, because you are not helping them while they are being robbed and beaten by King Philip's cavalry," Richelieu replied sharply. "The longer we wait, the more your reputation is going to suffer. The message King Philip sends is loud and clear."

The cardinal cast a warning glance at Tréville.

"You cannot allow this!" he added. "This shouldn't be tolerated!"

"With all respect, Sire," Tréville interfered and took a step forward, "we should really wait until my men return with the Spanish diplomat. We need clarity and truth before we do anything that might strain our relations with Spain even more."

Louis was still angry, but he seemed to calm down a bit. He gazed at Anne.

"What do you think?"

Anne's head shot up, surprised she was asked her opinion. The King usually made these decisions without giving a damn what the Queen thought. But, this discussion was about her brother, so Tréville wasn't exactly surprised by her thoughtful answer.

"I think Tréville is right," she declared and rose from the throne. "We cannot jump to conclusions. His men should return with Vabrino within the next days, right?"

Tréville nodded.

"Athos told me they plan to return tomorrow."

"You cannot leave the French citizens under the ruthless attacks of Spanish raiders!" Richelieu exclaimed and he bristled with anger.

Queen Anne glared at the cardinal, before moving to her husband's side and taking his hands.

"Then let Tréville send out some of his musketeers to protect the people until we know what is going on. It shows the people you care about them and you are protecting them."

Louis nodded and his face lit up in excitement.

"You make the most valuable suggestions, my dear," he smiled and turned to Tréville. "Send out your men, and take out these raiders. I'm inclined to follow your suggestion, Tréville, and wait for Comte Vabrino, but I cannot stand here and do nothing. Send them out!"

Tréville took a bow.

"As you wish, your majesty."

And he turned on his heel and left the throne room, feeling the cardinal's hateful stare at his back.


	6. Surrounded

Aramis, d'Artagnan, Vabrino and his daughter were crouching on the ground, securely hidden by thick branches and big rocks. In front of them was a road, and it was open area. There was no place to hide there. D'Artagnan told the two Spaniards that he and Aramis needed to scout the area first, make sure it was safe.

"I just can't get rid of the feeling that the road is being watched," Aramis murmured and d'Artagnan nodded.

"I know what you mean. As if there are muskets aimed at us the very moment we put a foot on the road."

"Exactly."

The snapping of a branch behind them caught their attention.

D'Artagnan slowly turned around and rose from his position in the grass, inch by inch. The moment his head wasn't behind cover anymore, he heard whistling and Aramis managed to pull him down just in time, as the knife being thrown flew over their heads and would've stuck into the Gascon's throat if Aramis' reflexes hadn't saved him.

"Well, I guess there is no more need to hide," d'Artagnan breathed and pulled out his weapons.

"Stay down," Aramis told Vabrino and Diana and picked up the knife thrown at d'Artagnan, stabbing its owner before he could even pull his rapier.

D'Artagnan and Aramis gained their footing on the uneven ground and d'Artagnan soon realized they were at disadvantage. They were truly surrounded. Six men were there, two behind them, two on the road and the last two on the other side of the road. It was as if they had been expecting them. They had walked right into a trap.

The Gascon heard Aramis being engaged in a duel, steel clashing on steel, and d'Artagnan jumped on a second attacker, quickly disarming him and ready to pierce his rapier into his opponent's torso, but the man dived under the sword and kneed d'Artagnan in the guts. The young cadet stumbled backwards and made a step to the side just in time to avoid another punch. Before the man could turn around, d'Artagnan finished him off, then using his pistol to kill a criminal who was trying to stab him in the back.

He took a deep breath and felt pain spread from his injured wrist and he cursed. He reached to the ground to haul Vabrino and his daughter up, but there was no one there.

Aramis had won his duel as well, but during the fight he was forced backwards on the road, his left hand was pressed against his left side, where d'Artagnan could make out blood seeping through his fingers, but he was still standing.

They both heard a soft cry and Aramis rapidly whirled around, reached for his pistol and held it in front of his face.

D'Artagnan turned around as well, and he saw Vabrino being knocked out with the handle of a pistol, crumbling to the ground. He looked for Diana and his heart sank.

The young girl was held at gunpoint by a huge man with broad shoulders and a grim look on his face, just about ten feet away from Aramis.

"Drop your weapons. Now", he ordered in French with a thick, Spanish accent.

The man who had knocked out Vabrino leveled his gun at d'Artagnan, while the other one held his pistol against the temple of the girl. The third remaining man was nowhere to be seen.

D'Artagnan couldn't stand the sight of the girl with the gun pointed at her head, so he raised his hand and his rapier fell to the ground. He didn't see another choice, if he wanted to save the girl.

"Good choice, boy" the man aiming at d'Artagnan commented.

Aramis didn't move an inch. His pistol was still pointed at the man holding Diana.

"I suggest you put your weapon down too," the man said and intensified his grip around the girl's throat. Silent tears ran down Diana's face, but she didn't make a sound.

"Where is your honor?" d'Artagnan spat and one of the attackers laughed.

"I don't understand?"

"Threatening a child," Aramis replied in d'Artagnan's place, his face a mask of hate. "How little moral can a man have?"

"I've been in prison for far more serious crimes, musketeer" their enemy snarled and tightened his grip around Diana. The girl gasped in surprise.

D'Artagnan absorbed every detail of the situation, looking for a possibility to save all four of them. The young man knew Aramis could make the shot; he could shoot the man between the eyes before he even had the chance to react. But it was risky, and they both knew that.

"There is another man at a safe distance aiming at the girl with a musket," the criminal facing Aramis said and d'Artagnan noticed the man in the grass on the other side of the road, indeed aiming a musket at them.

Aramis didn't twitch a muscle.

"I will not surrender to a criminal without honor," he growled between clenched teeth.

The criminal just smirked.

"Then you will surrender to a criminal who murdered an innocent child because of your neglect."

What happened next was something d'Artagnan had just been waiting for. The moment he saw Aramis pull the trigger; he rammed the man who had aimed the pistol at him and they both fell to the ground. It knocked the raider unconscious.

He saw the man holding Diana go down, shot between the eyes, and Aramis charged forward and pinned the girl to the ground. In the exact same moment, while Aramis used his body to shield the girl, the musket of the third man went off and d'Artagnan pressed himself into the dust.

He heard muffled yell from Aramis and d'Artagnan quickly found the rifleman and disarmed him, before piercing his chest with his rapier.

"Aramis, do you see any more?" d'Artagnan yelled without turning to his comrade as he strode through the area, scanning for anymore riflemen. He got no reply.

"Do you?" he repeated.

"No!" came the faint response and d'Artagnan allowed his body to calm down and the adrenaline was wearing off.

D'Artagnan crouched over Vabrino. The nobleman was crumbled on the floor with an impressive bump on his head, but apart from that, he seemed fine, even though he was still unconscious.

He turned around and threw a glance at Aramis and Diana.

"You two okay?" he asked. His face fell as his gaze met the two of them.

Diana was sitting on the ground, shocked, her whole body trembling. Her eyes were wide open, unshed tears gathered there.

Aramis was lying next to her, on his side. His hands were clasped around his right leg, and d'Artagnan saw blood oozing out between musketeer's fingers a few inches above his knee, staining the fabric in a dark red colour.

"Merde!" he cursed and rushed over to his friend and fell on his knees next to them.

He took Diana's face between his hands and looked at her worryingly.

"You okay? Bìen?"

She nodded, shaking terribly.

Then d'Artagnan turned to Aramis, whose eyes were shut in pain and his whole body was tense.

"What happened?" he asked unnecessarily.

"Musket," Aramis growled. "Shot."

"Yeah, I can see that." Aramis shot him a look as if to say 'then why do you ask'.

The marksman tried to prop himself up on his elbows and d'Artagnan gently supported him with his hands on his friend's back. He groaned as it strained the wound on his side and he gasped as d'Artagnan began to have a look at the leg-wound.

The Gascon's face was anxious and he carefully looked up to his friend.

"I think the ball is still in there. What do you need me to do?"

Aramis blinked as if it was hard to understand the question, but then he raised a hand.

"Not here. We need to get away from the road. As soon as possible."

"But…" d'Artagnan tried to intervene but Aramis blocked it.

"We don't know if there are any more. Here, we are in hot water."

He closed his eyes and groaned.

"Get the saddlebags from the bush where we left them and then you get Vabrino. That man's musket can be useful too."

D'Artagnan hesitated, but thanks to Aramis' intense look he quickly obeyed. After he fetched the bags from the bushes and got the musket and the ammunition for that weapon, he ran over to Vabrino, who was just regaining his senses at that very moment.

"Hey," d'Artagnan said and held out a hand. "You okay?"

Vabrino looked shocked as he remembered what had happened.

"Diana!" he cried out and looked around, frantically searching for his daughter.

"Papa!" she whispered with a frightened voice and jumped into his open arms.

"Thank God!" the Spaniard whispered and took d'Artagnan's offered hand as the Gascon hauled him from the ground. "What happened?"

"We were able to fight them off, you were knocked out. It will probably leave you with a headache."

Vabrino nodded, then, he spotted Aramis who was unsuccessfully trying to stand up.

"What happened to him?"

The nobleman looked truly scared and concerned.

"He saved your daughter's life," d'Artagnan replied simply and quickly ran over to Aramis.

"If you want to get out of here before I treat your wounds, then at least let me help you," the Gascon said and Aramis gave him a faint smile.

"Your help is truly appreciated."

D'Artagnan pulled a sash out of the bags and quickly bound the leg, just so that it could help to stop the bleeding. Aramis didn't even complain. D'Artagnan put the marksman's arm around his shoulder and carefully helped him to stand. Aramis let out a pained cry and bent over.

"Can you walk?" d'Artagnan asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"We'll find out," Aramis whispered and tried to take a step. As he put just very little weight onto his injured leg he stumbled and it nearly gave out, making Aramis suppress a scream. His face was a mask of pain and he was quietly and rapidly cursing in Spanish.

"I'll take that as a no," d'Artagnan commented and winced in sympathy.

They took another step and the reaction was more intense, leading to the musketeer nearly falling over, not to mention the painful sounds that escaped his lips.

Just as d'Artagnan was thinking about a solution, because he really couldn't watch this, Vabrino was there, putting the other arm around his shoulder and helping to take most of Aramis' weight.

"You really don't have…to do this," Aramis said with a small voice.

"I know I don't," Vabrino replied, "But you saved my daughter's life. Now, let me help to save yours."

* * *

And they headed towards the barn about half a mile away from them to find shelter.

"Francois, Juvert!" Tréville barked through the courtyard as he returned from the palace.

The two musketeers stopped their friendly sparring and joined their captain immediately.

"Captain?"

"You heard about Spanish raiders, stealing from the villages west of Paris?"

Francois, a senior musketeer with a scar above the right side of his face, nodded knowingly.

"I want you two to gather two groups and lead them in the western direction. We have orders to hunt these raiders down, and protect the civilians."

Francois tilted his head and left immediately, shouting for different musketeers.

Juvert stayed.

"Sir, what are our orders? Capture them, or kill them?"

Tréville hesitated.

"Do whatever you need to do to protect the civilians. That is priority number one, understand?"

"Yes, captain. What about you?"

Tréville sighed.

"As much as I'd love to come with you, I need to stay in the city and at the King's side until Athos and the others come back."

Juvert bowed his head and wanted to leave, but Tréville called him back.

"Juvert?"

"Yes, captain?"

"Stay safe."

"I promise."

And Tréville watched as musketeers and cadets gathered around Juvert and Francois, and he sighed.

One more day, until Athos told him they planned to be back. He just hoped they would be back in time, because he didn't know how long he could keep the King convinced about trusting him and not listening to Richelieu.

Just one more day. But he couldn't dismiss the feeling that Athos, Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan, taking the route where, apparently, the raiders raged as well, could have met some trouble. And any more days they and the Spanish nobleman weren't back, the more difficult it would become to convince the King to wait for them.

Tréville just hoped it would not come so far.

* * *

Athos gently brought his horse to a halt. It was difficult tracing their friends in the forest, since there weren't any footprints to follow due to the moss and leaves covering the floor.  
The longer they searched, the more impatient Porthos became, and Athos thought it was a win as they now found the remains of a fireplace on the dusty forest floor.

"You think it might've been them?" Porthos asked as Athos dismounted to inspect the place.

The fire was ignited maybe the evening before. The ground here was dry, and Athos scanned the traces.

"There are five, maybe six marks here."

"So, not them?"

Athos shook his head.

"Probably the attackers."

"Look, over there!"

Porthos pointed on the ground. It was a muddy path between the trees and Athos discovered footprints in the dirt.

Without saying a word, Athos carefully followed the footprints, while Porthos slowly led the horses over the uneven and sticky ground.

It was afternoon, and what they could see of the sky between the high treetops turned to a dark grey. Porthos' horse snuffled as it was startled by thunder roaring in the distance.

"Great," Porthos muttered, but Athos didn't even look up.

"Over there!" he whispered. They were near a small creek, and the bushes and rocks formed a small clearing. There were also the remains of a fire, and Porthos exhaled slowly.

"I think the raiders found them," he commented, his voice tense.

Athos nearly tripped over something on the ground, which turned out to be the body of a hooded man, lying face down in the mud. Another one was lying maybe two feet away.

Athos looked up to Porthos as he knelt down.

"You think?"

Porthos huffed and inspected the clearing.

"Three more over here. None of them are d'Artagnan or Aramis. Or Vabrino."

Athos ran a hand over his face, trying to reconstruct what had happened here.

"Alright. So they fought them off here and then…headed where?"

Porthos shrugged.

"Dunno. Some of the raiders have horses, so they have no chance in running away. My guess would be that they tried to find shelter someplace they can protect. At least that's what I would do."

"We are in the middle of a forest," Athos chipped in. "Where would a place like that probably be?"

Porthos took a look around and Athos came up with a thought.

"Are there any buildings in this area?"

"No idea. Maybe a village or some farms a few miles away."

"The raiders must have a camp in this area as well. That's why there are so many of them, always attacking in small groups. We cannot let them force Aramis and d'Artagnan into a corner."

"So, what do you suggest?"

Porthos glared at Athos, who rose from the ground with a sigh and ran a hand over his face in exasperation.

"We rest here for a few hours until it gets dark, so we and the horses can regain some strength. Then we head north, back to where the river should take its course and the road. If we find the raiders, we should find d'Artagnan and Aramis."

"We cannot wait for a few hours!" Porthos protested furiously, his giant figure towering over Athos. As kind as he was under normal circumstances, when he was angry, nobody would want to cross Porthos' way. Except for his friends.

Athos grabbed the tall musketeer's shoulder.

"Look at us, look at the horses, Porthos. What help are we going to be if the horses cannot make an escape?"

Porthos bit his lip.

"Alright. But as soon as the sun goes down, we continue our search. You will not hold me back then."

Athos nodded.

"No worries, my friend. You won't hold me back either."

* * *

 _So, only two more chapters to go. But they are longer than this one, I promise._


	7. Nowhere to run

"Thank God!" d'Artagnan exclaimed as the barn finally came into view. They were moving slowly, trying not to cause Aramis any further harm, while the pale musketeer focused on biting down screams as d'Artagnan and Vabrino tried to carry most of his weight. Diana walked next to her father.

"The door is stuck!" Vabrino cried out as they arrived at the tall, wooden gate.

D'Artagnan carefully took Aramis' arm from his shoulder.

"You got him?" he asked Vabrino.

The Spaniard nodded.

D'Artagnan used all of his strength and forcefully kicked against the door multiple times, until it burst open with a loud creak.

As expected, rain started to slowly drop from the sky, and d'Artagnan heard thunder rage in the distance. Judging by the position of the sun, it was late afternoon.

"Let's get inside," he said and draped Aramis' arm around his shoulder again. Diana closed the gate behind them.

The barn wasn't very big. Some bales of straw were bound together in the corner. Usual farmer tools leaned against the wall, and a pile of hay was gathered in the center of the barn, next to another bale of straw.

D'Artagnan motioned to place Aramis there. They slowly moved over. The Gascon mustered his friend. Aramis' face was plastered in sweat, and his eyes were squinted in pain. It was a miracle he still clung onto consciousness.

"Aramis?" d'Artagnan asked softly.

"Hm?"

"We need to sit you down. Are you ready?"

Aramis' head shot up and he surveyed the chosen place with tired eyes.

"You know we cannot stay here? They…they will know we are here," he answered breathlessly.

"It will have to suffice for the night," d'Artagnan replied. "No need to argue here, Aramis. So, are you ready?"

Aramis blinked in agreement.

"Born ready," was the faint reply.

On d'Artagnan's signal, Vabrino released Aramis from his grip and steadied the marksman by the shoulder as he stumbled. D'Artagnan slowly got down on his knees, pulling Aramis with him and propped him up against the straw. Even though all his senses screamed to help his injured friend, d'Artagnan knew the priorities, and he stood up.

"Watch him," he ordered to Vabrino and ran over to get some of the pitchforks and crowbars, as well as a shovel. He used them to barricade the huge door, and also got two wheelbarrows to serve as a blocking weight against the entrance.

Then, he headed back to Aramis, dropping the saddlebags and the musket next to him. Vabrino and Diana watched them with concerned looks.

"You are the one with the knowledge, Aramis. You need to tell me what to do".

Aramis leaned against the straw, his eyes staring at the ceiling.

"Well, how does it look?" he countered.

D'Artagnan undid the sash wrapped around Aramis' leg. Carefully, he ripped the hole a little wider, the edges of the material of the pants already soaked red.

"The ball is still in your leg. It's probably stopping the bleeding," d'Artagnan analyzed, "I think you were lucky. It could've been worse."

"Just…get it out. And clean it with alcohol."

"Where do you think I should get alcohol from?" he asked.

Aramis' face twitched as he shakily reached under his coat over his shoulder and pulled out a flask.

D'Artagnan took it, raising an eyebrow.

"You sly old dog," he commented and patted Aramis reassuringly on the side of his face; "I'd expect that from Athos, not from you."

Aramis' breathed raggedly.

"Porthos and I always carry some, just in case. Can't let…Athos have all of it."

D'Artagnan let out a short laugh, trying to lighten the mood a little bit.

"What do I get the ball out with?" he asked impatiently.

"My kit."

D'Artagnan looked over to Vabrino and gestured him to hand him the kit out of Aramis' saddlebags.

Vabrino quickly obliged and D'Artagnan pulled out a slim forceps.

"Seriously?"

D'Artagnan inspected the tool with a doubtful look.

"Make sure it's clean," Vabrino interjected.

D'Artagnan looked at Aramis for confirmation, but the marksman lay slumped against the straw, his eyes closed and his face a mask of exhaustion. The Gascon noticed Vabrino saying something in Spanish to his daughter, and the girl turned away, facing the opposite direction. What followed was nothing a girl her age needed to see.

"Be careful," Vabrino warned, "he does seem to be very lucky, it's not too deep. But when you get it out, make sure to be precise. If you happen to damage anything, the bleeding might be too extensive."

D'Artagnan's face was blank as he stared at the Spaniard, surprised by his input.

"It's a miracle he is still conscious," Vabrino continued.

The Gascon gritted his teeth.

"He is one stubborn bastard."

D'Artagnan didn't wait for another second.

With his left hand, he pushed the leg on the ground, with his right hand, he tried to extract the ball lodged a few inched above the knee in the thigh. It was d'Artagnan's right wrist which was hurting enormously, but he tried to control the trembling and get the ball out of the leg. The moment he started, Aramis' back arched up in reaction, his eyes squeezed shut and his lips holding in the scream of pain.

"Hold him," d'Artagnan cried at Vabrino and the Spaniard quickly used his weight to pin the musketeer to the ground.

It was pure torture for the Gascon to see what pain he caused his friend, but he had no choice. After a few moments, which each felt like an eternity, he got the ball out and threw it away as if it was venomous. Blood poured out of the wound and d'Artagnan quickly cleaned it with the alcohol. Aramis struggled against Vabrino's hold in his pain and d'Artagnan had to help Vabrino to hold the musketeer down.

D'Artagnan took a small cloth drenched in alcohol and put it on top of the wound, before binding it with a clean bandage from the marksman's kit.

He sat back for a second and his gaze wandered to Aramis. He was lying flat on the ground, panting, but his eyes were wide open, glassy, staring directly at d'Artagnan.

"That's all I can do, I think," d'Artagnan said with an apologetic face, "I just hope it stops the bleeding soon."

Aramis managed a weak smile.

 _Thank you!_ he mouthed silently.

D'Artagnan looked over to Vabrino, who met his gaze with a concerned look. The nobleman pointed to Aramis' side.

"You might want to take a look at that as well."

D'Artagnan quickly crouched at Aramis' side to take a look.

There was a long gash along his left side. The blade had torn through the leather and the skin and muscle below. D'Artagnan quickly undid the buttons of the doublet, so he could have a better look at his friend's wound.

He whistled with fake cheerfulness, in a weak attempt to lighten the stressful atmosphere. It was a deep gash; the fabric of the beige shirt Aramis wore under the doublet was soaked with dark red liquid. The wound needed to be closed, fast.

"It's just really not your day today, is it?" he said. "It's definitely going to need stitching."

Aramis' raised his hand and gently patted the Gascon's arm.

"I have total confidence in you."

D'Artagnan managed a light grin and wanted to get everything ready, as a hand locked around his wrist. Vabrino stopped him, and stared at him with wide, brown eyes.

"You have hurt your wrist. You don't have a steady hand. Let me do it."

D'Artagnan snorted disapprovingly.

"You are a nobleman, seňor. You should not be practicing field medicine."

Vabrino gave him a confident smile.

"Noble or not, if this wound is not closed neatly soon, it will get infected or your friend might bleed out soon. I owe him my daughter's life as you said. Please, let me do this. It's not the first wound I've stitched."

"You guys do realize…I'm right here…right?" Aramis panted and groaned as the wound on his side came in contact with the alcohol out of the bottle.

"Yes, but right now," d'Artagnan replied as he handed the kit over to Vabrino, "you don't get to say anything here. I know you, Aramis, and what you might want to say, and I'm telling you that I'm not going to leave you here on your own."

Aramis' hand grabbed him by the neck and he pulled the Gascon down.

"Promise me…," Aramis murmured, "that if we manage to survive here tonight, you will find a way for us to leave this barn. I just…have this feeling…that we are not safe here."

D'Artagnan gently pulled Aramis' hand away and squeezed it.

"We'll leave in the early morning," he assured his friend, "and you are coming with us, don't even try to tell me otherwise."

Aramis' head sunk back into the straw.

"It takes more than a blade to the side or a musket ball in the leg to get rid of me. Thought you knew that by now," he commented breathlessly with an almost amused expression on his face.

Vabrino got the needle ready.

"You good?" he asked unnecessarily and Aramis just shot him a sarcastic look.

D'Artagnan put a hand on his friend's shoulder, holding him down and also to give him comfort.

"Let's just get this over with."

* * *

Athos and Porthos were mounted on their horses, hidden in the dark of the night in the cover of the trees.

"See that?" Porthos hissed and pointed to the north. They found a road and followed its course, now they saw a light, probably a fire, glowing in the dark, maybe a hundred or two hundred feet away from them.

"We need to be silent," Athos instructed, as he gently pushed his horse forward. "We have to see how many there are. And who they are."

Porthos let out a dry laugh.

"I doubt that Aramis and d'Artagnan would make such a big fire when they are on the run."

"Really?" Athos scoffed. "Do I have to remind you of the one time you and Aramis thought it would be a good idea to make a fire in the middle of the night while we were busy outrunning the bandits of Orléans?"

"It's been so cold we hadn't been able to feel our hands anymore, Athos," Porthos defended himself. "Not everybody can be such a callous bastard like you."

Athos hinted a grin, it took some tension out of the air to banter with Porthos like they did under normal circumstances. But he quickly regained his focus, and with a look at Porthos, he noticed the other musketeer concentrated on their task too.

"Let's go," he said.

They arrived at the camp within minutes. They stayed away at a safe distance, but spotted a lot of people around the fire. There were even tents built up, and horses bound to the trees nearby.

"Can you see how many?" Porthos whispered.

Athos narrowed his eyes.

"At least twenty men. There is no chance we can go out of a fight victorious."

Porthos growled, frustrated.

"Maybe we can … I don't know, kidnap one? He could tell us whether they know where d'Artagnan and Aramis are."

Athos threw him an indecisive look.

"What makes you think he'll talk?"

"'cause I'll make him."

Porthos' face was cold and determined.

"Well, it's our best shot I guess. But we need to do this quietly, wait for the perfect opportunity. If they notice us, we are damned. And we take the others down with us as well."

"You told me no more waiting," Porthos spat angrily. Athos didn't even flinch, knowing his friend's anger wasn't directed at him.

"I know. But we cannot win against twenty men at once."

"If I have to wait any longer, I'll show you how to win against twenty men."

"Being too hasty will not improve our situation or our brother's situation. I need you to focus, Porthos!" Athos growled, not in the mood to argue with Porthos.

Porthos swallowed down a witty response and nodded.

"Alright, we'll do it your way. But if we come too late for d'Artagnan and Aramis, I will blame you. Forever."

"Thank you for your confidence, Porthos", Athos replied wryly and returned his attention to the camp in front of him, "Now, help me find someone to politely ask about our friend's current location."

* * *

It had been several hours since they arrived at the barn and patched Aramis up. D'Artagnan, having reached a point beyond tired and exhausted, stood vigil, listening to any sounds he was able to hear through the thick walls of the building. He couldn't wait for all of this to be over, so he could finally get some sleep. The gate was still blocked, and there weren't many windows in the building.

Diana was asleep, using a pile of hay as her pillow. Vabrino sat next to her, staring at his hands, covered with dried blood.

D'Artagnan's own hands were stained with dried blood, and he had tried for the last couple of hours to rub it off.

Aramis, having lost consciousness halfway through the stitching procedure, lay slumped against the straw. D'Artagnan was surprised now to see the musketeer's eyes wide open, his warm, brown eyes staring back at him.

"You know, you should really get some rest," d'Artagnan addressed his older companion.

Aramis huffed out a weak laughter.

"I did until now. Hear anything?"

D'Artagnan shook his head.

"Everything is silent. But if we don't leave until morning we might be trapped."

Aramis smiled.

"We will leave soon enough."

He winced as he tried to prop up one elbow, closing his eyes as a wave of pain hit him as the movement jarred his freshly stitched wound.

D'Artagnan slowly crouched over to Aramis.

"Let me check the wounds."

Aramis weakly slapped his hand away.

"You just took care of me about five hours ago. I'll be fine."

"Since I'm familiar with your definition of fine, please forgive me if I don't believe your word," d'Artagnan responded and took a look at the gunshot wound. The bandage was soaked in blood, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped.

"I'm going to bind it anew," d'Artagnan proposed and got out another clean bandage out of Aramis' bags. The wound in the leg itself looked clean, and as good as a gunshot wound could look, he supposed. He wrapped it carefully, not without noticing the pale skin-color his brother-in-arms showed off.

"You're doing good, you know?" Aramis whispered, "thinking straight and keeping a clear head in a situation like this."

D'Artagnan froze.

"What do you mean a situation like this? It's just another mission. Sure, it didn't go exactly as planned, but when did it ever in the last few months?"

Aramis glared at him through hooded eyes.

"You know what I mean. Let's be real here, if Porthos and Athos don't find us within the next hours, we will never see Paris again."

D'Artagnan sighed, resigned.

"God, and I considered you to be the optimist of the group."

Aramis gave a weak chuckle.

"Well, if you are looking for optimism, you should have been stuck here with Porthos. I'm more the realist, especially in situations like these. I could give you comforting words, but I doubt that you would believe them."

"I'll remember that."

D'Artagnan smiled and patted Aramis on the shoulder before he carefully continued.

"No, all jokes aside, I'm glad you are with me here. No idea what I would do if I was trapped here alone."

"Right back at you," Aramis responded hoarsely.

"Despite your realism, which kind of disturbed me for a second. You know, since I never took you for such a realist."

Aramis let out a deep breath and winced as he slightly moved his body.

"Being wounded and separated from the rest does that to a man, occasionally. Trust me, I know."

His face was like stone and he stared at the ground.

D'Artagnan knew what his friend was thinking of, but he didn't dare to say anything, knowing it was a very sensitive subject. But he didn't need to ask, as Aramis continued.

"You know, back in Savoy, I really thought that was it. That I would be left and forgotten in that godforsaken forest. But I wasn't."

He made a short pause, obviously reaching his usual limits of what he was going to say, but he continued with an unsteady voice. D'Artagnan was more than surprised. Aramis usually wasn't one to spill about his past or his secrets. He really must think that this may be their final hour.

"I was found and I recovered. God gave me a second chance, and after all these years I spent as a soldier, I gained a brotherhood like the one I found in Porthos and Athos, and now, you."

He chuckled weakly and continued whispering, his mind somewhere else.

"You know, on the first anniversary of … well of Savoy, I wandered through the streets of Paris. With all the memories still being so painful, I thought it would be the best to be alone. I went to say my prayers, and afterwards, I got myself a bottle of wine and sat down near of the Place Dauphine. You know, brooding, remembering…"

He broke off to catch his breath but he carried on slowly but surely, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Out of nowhere, Athos and Porthos appeared. We hadn't known each other for so long, so it was still a different kind of friendship than the one we have today. But they sat down next to me, drinking, but not saying a single word. The whole night, they didn't say a word, they just sat there and kept me company. A lot of things have changed since then, but till today, I am still grateful for that."

D'Artagnan swallowed, but he tried to give Aramis a faithful smile.

"Well, one thing didn't change…," he said and Aramis raised an eyebrow. D'Artagnan grinned. "Athos still doesn't talk very much."

Aramis' eyes shone with amusement.

"True." He made a short pause, his breath coming out ragged and his hand clamped around his wound on the side, but he wasn't finished.

"They are not going to let us down, d'Artagnan. Just in case you needed some optimism. That is my optimism. My faith. My faith in God and my faith in our brothers, who will not rest until they find us."

D'Artagnan closed his eyes.

"I know. I'm sure they will find us. Because I really would love to see Paris again."

Aramis chuckled.

"Yes, despite her rotten streets and dirty taverns, she is still a beauty to behold."

D'Artagnan glared at his friend, an amusing smile mustering his face.

"You know, I was more thinking of the people there."

Aramis groaned.

"Don't remind me of that. I'm already frightened of the lecture from Tréville we all are going to endure. He is a good man and an incredible mentor, but he can scare the crap out of a grown man." His voice was low.

D'Artagnan couldn't help but laugh, before his face turned serious again and he stared dreamily at the window.

Aramis noticed that.

"But I'm sure you were thinking about lovely Madame Bonacieux, am I right?"

D'Artagnan blushed.

"That obvious, is it?"

He made a short pause before he continued.

"I think it's no secret I love her. From the bottom of my heart. I gave her my heart, but I don't know if she can ever give me hers."

He noticed how his voice broke and quickly looked away. The thought of Constance and his longing for her brought a pain up in his heart he never felt before. But on the other hand, it was warm and comforting, and he clenched his fist in desperation.

He felt a weak grip on his arm and shyly looked down into Aramis' eyes.

"I have seen a lot, d'Artagnan, more than you might think. I desired a lot, I was denied a lot. I was sure I knew what true love is. But I became a soldier and a musketeer, and my brothers-in-arms became my family. And I like the excitement, the danger of this life."

He stopped again and it didn't take a mind-reader to know that Aramis kept something back. But d'Artagnan didn't ask. This conversation got way more personal than any they ever had.

Aramis still continued, but he cut it shortly.

"Take it as it comes, d'Artagnan. You never know what good things are in store for you."

D'Artagnan just glared at him, not really sure what to say.

"And, trust me; I see the way she looks at you. If it's not your fate to be with her one day, and to be able to love her truly and honestly, then I might stop believing in true love. You two are going to find your way. I know it."

D'Artagnan looked at him gratefully and gave him a gentle slap on the shoulder. If that really was their last conversation, it was a good one. One of the most honest ones they ever had.

"Thanks, Aramis."

D'Artagnan always considered Aramis to be the overly romantic type, and from what he heard from Porthos, Aramis' multiple liaisons had given him trouble more than once. But from what he heard now, he was convinced Aramis didn't give his heart away as easily as it seemed.

"Aramis?" he called after a short pause.

"Hm?"

"I don't know how we are supposed to get out of here. If they know we are here, what are we supposed to do? Since you are way more experienced, I was counting on you to lead us to safety."

"Experience doesn't make me a better musketeer," he corrected slowly. "And besides, as you can see, I'm currently not in the condition to do that. You will do just fine."

D'Artagnan looked at him with a worried gaze.

"I'm not sure I can do that," he confessed.

Aramis exhausted features became hard.

"You can," he said confidently. "I might be in the regiment longer than you are, but you proved multiple times how clever you are. Have some faith in yourself, d'Artagnan. You will lead us out of here in a few hours. And we will do our best to survive until Porthos and Athos find us."

Aramis' dark curls stuck to his sweaty forehead and his breath was coming out ragged due to the exhaustion and the pain he was trying to hide. Holding this conversation obviously had been more exhausting for him than he was ready to admit.

D'Artagnan was left speechless. In the last months, he tried so hard to impress Athos that he seemed to have overlooked the faith and the confidence Porthos and Aramis both offered him and showed so openly.

Aramis' words left his emotions shredded. He was scared. Scared that for once he had to make the decisions for other people, that their lives may be depending on the choices he made. He was grateful for the trust Aramis' seemed to have in him, but he couldn't conceal the fear that had a strong and firm grip over his body. Fear for the three lives he was responsible for now. He always admired Athos and how he seemed to make decisions so easily, but his current situation reminded him that it was a burden nobody wanted to bear gladly.

He nodded determined.

"You make it sound so easy. You know, Athos always says my actions are reckless."

"They are," Aramis commented dryly, "but Athos also called you talented, full of potential. Don't tell him I told you that, though."

D'Artagnan laughed.

"No worries. Thank you, Aramis. You are a great friend to talk to."

Aramis merely shrugged, not without his face twitching in pain.

"You are a part of us now, whether you like it or not. You should get used to this…well this…"

"Brotherhood?" d'Artagnan chipped in.

Aramis smiled.

" Trust me, once you've got it, it is too valuable to abandon again. You are not going to shake the three of us off, not so easily."

"I know, I tried." He eyed his comrade slyly, but then he winked reassuringly. "I don't take that for granted."

They sat there for a few minutes in silence, until d'Artagnan had to hide his laughter that suddenly overcame him, and in the current situation it nearly felt ridiculous.

"What's the matter?" Aramis asked curiously and eyed him tiredly.

"Just a little funny. How you three took me in. Considering I first met you when I wanted to kill one of you."

Aramis snorted.

"Yes, but I've got to tell you, that was quite an entrance you made there. And your sword-fighting with Athos? I was impressed."

He tried to sit up but gasped as soon as the movement jarred his wound.

"Let me have a look at it-," d'Artagnan said in a tone that tolerated no protest.

Aramis didn't even try to protest, and that scared d'Artagnan a little bit, since the marksman was always the first one to play down his injuries or the pain they caused him.

As d'Artagnan freed the side from the bandage that was covering it, he cursed.

Vabrino had indeed done some good needlework. But maybe they waited too long or whatever. The edges of the wound looked angry red, and small trickles of blood still seeped from the mostly closed gash. D'Artagnan probed the wound, realizing it was also quite warm to the touch.

"That doesn't look too good," he said to Aramis with a worried voice.

Aramis groaned.

"Quit touching it, damn it," he snapped.

D'Artagnan shrank back.

"Sorry."

Aramis let out the breath he was holding.

"I will get proper treatment for that when we make it back to Paris."

"You've got to make it to Paris first!" d'Artagnan said before he could think about it, the tone in his voice a mixture of desperation and anxiety.

He briefly closed his eyes.

"You did your best…," Aramis whispered and eyed Vabrino whose attention had turned to the two musketeers, "now, I would really like to get out of here."

While d'Artagnan carefully bound his friend's side, he had an idea.

"You know, we shouldn't make it too easy for them. Let's just leave the gate barricaded."

Aramis raised an eyebrow.

"Come again?"

"If we leave through a window or something like that, they will think we are still in here."

Aramis looked at him through hazy eyes, apparently letting the suggestion sink in.

"D'Artagnan," he began and let out a frustrated growl as he sat up as straight as he could manage, "you are a genius."

D'Artagnan shook his head.

"No. Just thinking clear, remember?"

"Yeah, I do."

He held out a hand.

"Would you mind helping me up?"

* * *

It was late at night, and Porthos and Athos were still watching the camp, growing more and more impatient as time went by. The men in the camp were awake the whole night, drinking, eating, and telling stories that Athos couldn't understand since he didn't speak Spanish.  
Athos jerked out of his position as Porthos nudged him from his right.

"Over there," he murmured and waved with his pistol to a man near the riverbank. He sat down and washed his face with water from the river, and filled a bucket. Athos inspected the environment. He wasn't completely isolated, but it was the best opportunity they got within the last few hours. If they acted quietly, it might work.

Just as they bound their horses to a tree and waited to slowly emerge from their cover, they heard the faint thundering of hooves.

"Get back, get back!" Athos hissed and yanked Porthos back by the shoulder.

Those horses didn't belong to the Spanish raiders. Athos realized that the moment the men at the camp jumped up, drawing their weapons in alarm. They were shouting orders in their panic, trying to wake the few men who had actually gone to sleep.

A line of riders broke into the clearing. The sound of pistols being fired erupted through the night and Athos heard steel clashing on steel.

"Now or never," Porthos said and jumped out of the cover, but Athos was faster. He ran and tackled the man near them, before he had the chance to draw a weapon. He grabbed him by the collar and disarmed him, throwing the weapons to Porthos who easily caught them.

Without hesitation, Athos landed the first punch.

"You speak our language?" he asked.

The man looked startled as he nodded briefly, his eyes narrowed.

"You are following a Spanish nobleman and his daughter, accompanied by two musketeers. Where are they?"

As the man realized what Athos was talking about, he just raised an eyebrow and laughed. Athos growled and landed three more punches in the man's face in white, hot anger.

"Where are they?" he roared.

The man still provoked him with his cheerful laughter, not answering his question.  
Athos punched him again, multiple times; with so much force he could feel some bones in two of his fingers snap. Pain spread from his fingers down his hand and arm, but he didn't care. The numbness resulting from the eager will to find the others prevented him from taking notice of the pain.

Seconds later, he saw Porthos holding his pistol against the man's head.

"He is not asking again," the tall musketeer snarled.

Around them, the heat of the fight was wearing down, the unknown riders, who didn't seem to notice them, clearly dominated the Spanish raiders and were on the verge of defeating them. The man's face was a mess thanks to Athos' punches. His nose was broken and blood was flowing freely out of it, staining his teeth red as he was still laughing. One eye was already beginning to swell shut. But he answered, even though his half-French, half-Spanish was difficult to understand.

"You will be too late. They locked themselves in a _granero_ a few miles from here, near the river. A troop of ours headed out. They have _commando_ to burn it to the ground before the sun rises."


	8. A message for a king

"You bastards!" Athos screamed in frustration and knocked the man against a tree-trunk. He fell to the ground, unconscious. The stoic musketeer totally failed to control himself. In the past minutes, a side of him he mostly kept hidden showed up on the surface, and he hadn't been able to tame it. Maybe that's what fear does to a man.

"Athos," Porthos murmured and grabbed him by the arm, while pulling his sword out with his free hand.

The riders that had taken out the camp, took as many prisoners as possible, and were surrounding them now. Their faces were hidden by the darkness of the night, since the campfire was out. Athos sighed. He had nerves of steel, but it was really going on the edge right now.

But no one attacked.

"Athos," a familiar voice called out and one of the riders came forward, his face now lit by the dim shine of the moon.

"Francois?" Athos tried and relief already spread through him like the warmth of wine.

He now mustered the other riders, and noticed their uniforms.

 _Musketeers_ , he thought, and he felt Porthos relax visibly next to him.

"God, what are you doing out here?" Francois asked. "And where are the others? Aren't you supposed to accompany someone to Paris?"

"Long story," Athos interrupted, "Right now, we need you to come with us. Aramis, d'Artagnan and our guests are being attacked a few miles from here."

Francois nodded, accepting the orders. Athos and Porthos fetched their horses and mounted them, digging their heels into the animals flank and urging them to a fast pace.

"What are you doing here?" Porthos addressed Francois.

"Tréville sent us out here, to fight those bandits. He is waiting in Paris for you and the one you are supposed to be protecting. You really need to hurry. Paris is in dire straits."

"We need to get to them first," Athos replied and they headed to the direction the barn was supposed to be. They just hoped they would arrive in time.

* * *

Escaping through the window was more of a challenge than d'Artagnan had anticipated. The window was very high and not very big. They needed to climb onto some straw bales in order to reach the window. D'Artagnan went first, carrying all their equipment, from the bags to the musket. As he sat on the frame of the window, he looked down. He could easily land on the ground without hurting himself, Vabrino too probably. Aramis, if he had his usual strength and agility, probably could too, but in his current condition there was no way. And Diana couldn't make that either.

So d'Artagnan jumped down, landing softly on his feet.

"Are you gonna help her? I think d'Artagnan might need my help," he heard Vabrino ask, and seconds later, the Spaniard joined the Gascon outside.

He nervously scanned the area, but they didn't hear a thing.

With Vabrino's help, d'Artagnan was able to place a pile of straw right under the window, so the other two could land as softly as possible. He also tried to be quiet, since he always feared they could be discovered, and that would ruin their whole plan.

"Okay, this is the best we can do," he whispered to Diana, whose head appeared in the window frame. She nodded and after her father gave her the signal, she carefully climbed down and let herself fall onto the straw.

"You good?" d'Artagnan asked her.

She nodded.

"Estoy bìen."

"Aramis", d'Artagnan softly called. Getting Aramis out was the hardest thing to do, since he couldn't even walk properly. But the musketeer had assured his younger companion multiple times he was fine and able to do this.

His pale face now appeared in the window and he heaved himself through the window and slipped down.

He landed in the straw with a soft thud and a choked down groan. D'Artagnan hurried over to help his friend up, putting the musketeer's left arm around his shoulder and helping him to stand up and hobble to the cover the tall grass nearby could provide.

Even though his wounds had been tended to, Aramis' face was still ashen, his jaw clenched as he tried to stay silent, his lips pinched in pain. D'Artagnan had to drag him more than Aramis could actually take some steps.

In the meantime, Vabrino scattered the straw in the area, so it didn't look as if they had escaped through that window.

Suddenly, d'Artagnan heard voices in the distance.

They put a distance of maybe sixty feet between themselves and the barn as they lay down flat in the high grass.

"Give me the musket," Aramis demanded as he laid eyes on the weapon in his companion's hands.

"Think that's a good idea?" d'Artagnan replied with a skeptical tone.

"No, but I like to be prepared," the marksman panted and d'Artagnan complied.

A group of maybe ten men gathered near the main gate, kicking against it, but the gate didn't give in.

"They know we were in there," Vabrino whispered.

The group split up, quickly surrounding the barn. Each man held a torch.

"What are they doing?" d'Artagnan wondered and squinted his eyes in order to see better.

Aramis' eyes went wide.

"They are burning it down."

And indeed, seconds later, one of the bandits gave a signal with his hand and each man set the straw and wood on fire.

"Let's hope they buy it," Aramis murmured, keeping a firm grip on the musket.

The bandits gathered in front of the barn, watching it slowly catch fire. They were silent, not saying a single word while watching the blazing fire spread and slowly consume the whole building.

Suddenly, they split up again, and they seemed to scout the area.

"Shit," d'Artagnan cursed and slowly started robbing backwards, "they must've realized we are not in the barn. Or they want to make sure we didn't escape."

His eyes locked on Aramis, true desperation written across his face.

"What do we do now?"

"Get my daughter to safety!" Vabrino pleaded and looked straight at d'Artagnan.

"I'm not leaving you here," the Gascon replied a little sharper than he intended.

"You have your sword, I have my musket," Aramis interrupted with a low voice. Exhaustion was written over his face and he was panting. Sweat was glistening on his forehead and he cradled the musket.

"You take Diana and Vabrino, lead them to the road and make them hide there. I will try to shoot as many as I can. You surprise them from the back."

"I'm not leaving you alone here!" d'Artagnan exclaimed, "We are supposed to fight together. Don't you ask that from me. Don't you dare to ask that from me!"

"Yes, fighting together, I know. Side by side. That's how it's supposed to be."

Aramis gave him a small, reassuring smile, but it wasn't enough to cover the weariness radiating off the older musketeer.

"But I can't even stand on my own right now," he continued, "I could never win a hand-to-hand-combat in my current situation. But you can. And I can still shoot a musket. You want to get us out of here, alive? Then we need to act, now!"

"I don't like this," d'Artagnan countered, nervously biting his lips.

"Duly noted."

D'Artagnan hesitated for another second, as every muscle in his body screamed to stay with his brother here, but he did as Aramis told him and carefully rose from the ground, taking a scared Diana by the hand. He squeezed his friends shoulder.

"You'd better aim well," he whispered into Aramis' ear.

A muffled laugh was the response he got.

"I'm insulted. You realize who you are talking to, right? I won't miss. I wouldn't dare to disappoint you."

D'Artagnan closed his eyes and turned to Vabrino.

Vabrino leaned over to him.

"I'm staying here with him. Helping him, reloading his weapon. I'm trusting you with the life of my daughter, don't make me regret that."

D'Artagnan looked at him, with a mixture of confusion and surprise.

"You, seňor, are really not what I expected a man of your rank to be."

Vabrino gave him a half-smile.

"We are not all spoiled, rich men, greedy for power and control. Some of us just want to live in peace and harmony. Take care of my daughter. I'm coming to get her soon."

And d'Artagnan turned around and headed for the road, looking for a good place to hide Diana before he rushed into the fight that was going to erupt as soon as they discovered one of them.

* * *

"Merde. Athos!"

Athos turned his head to the side to meet Porthos' frantic look.

"See that?" he continued and pointed into the distance.

The dark night was being lit up by a distant source and while riding nearer, Athos could make out it was a fire. Thick smoke above it was darkening the clear sky.

A bitter, unpleasant smell also reached Athos and it sent chills down his spine.

"Yeah, and I'm smelling that too."

They pressed their horses into a faster gallop.

Horrible scenarios of what might have happened to his brothers swirled through Athos' head, and a small, concerned wince escaped his lips as a gunshot thundered through the silence of the night.

"Faster," he barked at Francois and the other musketeers.

After about a minute of fast galloping, the barn came into sight. Or what was left of it, since it was one of the greatest fires Athos had seen in a while, excluding his own house that caught fire a while ago after his encounter with his wife.

Another shot echoed through the area and Athos and Porthos quickly found the attackers. There were four on the road, surrounding a young man who desperately seemed to use all of his energy to fight them off.

"D'Artagnan!", Porthos realized and spurred his horse into action once again, quickly followed by Athos. They took two of the attackers by surprise and stabbed them in the back.

D'Artagnan finished off another one and Athos lunged out for the fourth bandit, tackling him to the ground and saving d'Artagnan from being stabbed at the last second. The Gascon whirled around and finished the fourth man, then raised his sword to fight Athos with a wild look in his eyes, but Athos raised his hands and took a step back.

"Take it easy," he said. "It's me."

"Athos?" d'Artagnan asked and the musketeers could hear relief flooding the young man's voice, "About time you arrived."

"Can't let you take all of the credit!" Porthos grinned and allowed himself a short moment of relief that they had found at least one of their friends.

D'Artagnan looked awful, Athos asserted. He was covered in dirt and blood, how much of it was his was indeterminable. Dried blood was also visible on his hands and some spots on his clothing, his sleeve was torn as well. A bruise was beginning to form under his eye and his hair was plastered to his forehead. All in all, he seemed beyond exhausted.

"Where are the others?" Porthos asked urgently.

D'Artagnan's face fell as he remembered.

"Diana!" he called and the little girl, who had been hiding in the bushes, came forward and shyly hid behind d'Artagnan.

"Aramis and Vabrino are back there!" d'Artagnan continued, his face a mask of panic and worry, and he pointed into the direction of a field on a hill on the other side of the barn.

Another gunshot.

Athos and Porthos dug their heels into their horses' sides, and they ran fast to the hill. Three men were trying to find cover behind some ordinary barn barrows, in order not to get hit by the musket that was being fired from the field.

 _Aramis,_ Athos remembered and was able to take two of the bandits down, one with his rapier and the other one with the pistol he wore attached to his belt. Judging by the roaring to his side, Porthos was making sure the last attacker regretted every move he made and Porthos knocked him unconscious with his bare hands.

Just as Athos steered his horse forward, another ball whizzed through the air and went straight into the ground only inches in front of Athos' horses' hooves.

The stallion bolted in panic, but Athos had it under control very quickly.

"Sorry," he heard the faint comment from the field and Athos couldn't help but grin.

That was Aramis' voice. So he was alive.

He followed Porthos, who had quickly mounted his horse again, to the hill and discovered Vabrino. The Spanish nobleman was on his knees, staring at them with a wide grin on his face.

"Athos and Porthos, right? You have really good timing."

He looked to the ground and saw Aramis lying on his back, the musket next to him. His hand clenched his left side, and he looked very pale, even in the orange light they had, but his eyes stared at Athos.

"Athos. I've never been so happy to see your grumpy face again."

"Well, yeah, you nearly shot me. Why did your aim fail you?" Athos replied, amused.

Aramis gave him a weak smile.

"Realized last second it was you. I snatched… the musket off in the last moment. You can thank Vabrino for that."

Athos tilted his head in front of the nobleman.

"Seňor, thank you for saving me from my brother's matchless ability to hit the target."

Porthos jumped off his horse and knelt down next to his friend.

"What did you get yourself into here, heh?" he asked and gently took Aramis' hand away from his side.

"Porthos," Aramis breathed, "Thank God you are alright. And thanks for saving my life, I suppose."

"You're welcome. I'm gonna remind you of that," Porthos commented dryly but with a witty expression in his dark eyes.

Aramis closed his eyes, and Athos spotted the bandage around his leg and the one around his side, that Porthos revealed as he undid the doublet once he realized something was off.

"What … happened to your hand, Athos?" Aramis whispered and stared at Athos' hand which he now held close to his chest in order to numb the pain from the few broken bones he received earlier.

Porthos answered the question with a short laugh.

"He beat the crap outta one of them. You should've seen it. It was intimidating."

Aramis closed his eyes.

"I bet it was." He then searched the area with eyes now only half open.

"Where is d'Artagnan?" Aramis asked weakly and made an attempt to sit up, but Porthos pushed him back on the ground.

"I'm here".

Athos heard d'Artagnan's voice behind him.

"Diana!" Vabrino called and the young girl flew into her father's arms, "Thank God you are okay."

"You are warm," Porthos commented and Aramis groaned as Porthos touched the wound on his side.

"Leave…it be. Will do until… Paris…"

His jaw was tightly clenched as he stubbornly tried to prop himself up on his elbows.

"What happened?" Athos asked d'Artagnan.

The young cadet shrugged, as if he didn't know where to start.

"It was a cat-and-mouse game. They attacked us; we fled and hid, always waiting for you to rescue us since we couldn't outrun them without horses. One time, they defeated us, holding Diana at gunpoint, and Aramis saved her. He took a musket ball to the leg and the gash on his side is from a rapier from the prior duel. I think it got infected, but I couldn't be sure. What were we supposed to do anyway? All we could do is wait."

Athos sighed.

"Well, yeah. You're right. We need to get to Paris, as fast as possible."

"We are going to need horses," d'Artagnan interjected.

Athos took a look around.

"We have three. So we might need two more. Diana can ride with one of us. Our horses need to be as fast as possible."

"You think you can ride?" Porthos asked Aramis, who still lay on the ground with closed eyes.

"No," the marksman replied, his words choked out between two deep breaths, "But I'm gonna give it a bloody good try."

Francois appeared out of nowhere.

"You can take two of our horses. Send greetings to Tréville."

Athos gratefully accepted the two reins of the horses that Francois offered him.

"What about you?" he asked.

Francois shrugged.

"Juvert's group should be about twenty miles east. We will meet up, he'll organize the horses for us. Until then, we will be fine. Don't worry about us."

D'Artagnan found his own horse; the reins still attached to Porthos' saddle, and greeted the animal fondly. The horse snuffled and pushed her head against the Gascon's chest.

He gently stroked her and gave Vabrino a hand in mounting his horse.

"Gracias," the Spaniard replied, holding out a hand for his daughter. D'Artagnan lifted the girl up and she was seated in front of her father.

"Alright, now on to the interesting part," Porthos said. He and d'Artagnan both took Aramis by his armpits and hauled him into a standing position.

The musketeer let out a muffled yell and it took him several moments to regain control of his breathing.

"Nearly there," Porthos said in a comforting tone. Francois was there to hold the horse steady.

"You lie poorly, mon ami," Aramis murmured.

He put his left foot in the stirrup and grabbed the reins and the mane of the horse. Porthos kept a firm grip on his friend's shoulder.

With a painful grunt, Aramis was able to swing his injured limb over the horse's back, choking on his breath the second he slumped in the saddle and it jarred the wound on his side.

"It's okay," he panted, patting Porthos' shoulder reassuringly, "I'm fine. We…should move."

Porthos nodded, but kept a worried eye on his friend.

"We need to hurry."

* * *

It was ridiculous how easy it was to get to Paris with horses, d'Artagnan realized. After all that he and Aramis had been through the last few days, Paris, that appeared at the horizon now, had never looked so beautiful. The sun was up for a few hours.

He had filled in Porthos and Athos about everything that happened since they were separated at the bridge a few days ago. He also pointed out multiple times how Aramis always assured him that Athos and Porthos would come, which led to a content expression on Porthos' face.  
The horseriding was pure torture for Aramis, whose face was a mask of pain, his jaw clenched and sweat bathing his forehead and neck.

But, in true Aramis-manner, he didn't say a word, so it was Porthos who suddenly urged his horse into a stop, bringing Aramis' horse with it.

Aramis, even in his half-conscious state, knew exactly what Porthos was going to say.

"Just until Paris," he slurred and swayed dangerously in the saddle, "We are…nearly there."

It was Athos who now appeared next to his friend, gently snatching the reins out of Aramis' hands.

"As you wish, you lunatic. But you focus on staying on the horse, I will do the rest."

With these words, the older musketeer tied the reins to his saddle, and they continued their journey to Paris at a slightly slower pace.

* * *

Half an hour later, they rode through the gates of the garrison. An anxious Tréville greeted them from his balcony, quickly coming down the stairs as he took notice of the situation.

"Finally!" he exclaimed, "Took you long enough. We need to get straight to the palace."

"Just a minute," Athos retorted and jumped off his horse, just in time to catch Aramis as his exhaustion and pain took over and he lost consciousness.

"Hey, Aramis…" Athos murmured and took the marksman's face into his free hand. Aramis' eyes were closed, and he didn't respond to Athos' words.

Athos sighed. Aramis had stubbornly clung onto consciousness the whole way back, so it had only been a matter of time.

"What happened to him?" Tréville asked with a concerned voice.

"I'll fill you in later. Right now, he needs medical treatment."

Tréville nodded.

"I'll send for someone."

He gave a signal to one of the cadets standing around.

"Go fetch a medic!"

He then took the place on the other side of Aramis and together, they were able to carry the musketeer inside and onto a bed.

D'Artagnan appeared at their side.

"I should stay with him," he said, but Athos shook his head.

"You are the only one to verify everything Vabrino is going to say. You must accompany them to the palace."

"I'll stay," a voice stated from the entrance and they made space for Porthos, who sat down next to his brother-in-arms.

"You sent for a physician?" he asked the captain and Tréville nodded.

"Then go, talk to the king. I'll make sure we are here when you return."

The other nodded and left the room to get their horses again.

About half an hour later, Athos, d'Artagnan, Vabrino and Diana were standing in the throne room. Tréville had left five minutes earlier to fetch the King and the Queen.

"I can't believe I am finally standing here," Vabrino confessed and his eyes were taking in every single detail of the giant throne room, "I'm not even dressed properly."

Athos snorted.

Vabrino was right. He and d'Artagnan looked terrible, their clothes and cloaks torn and dirty and Diana's rose dress was dark with mud.

"I don't think the king will…"

But Athos stopped as soon as the giant doors swung open and Tréville led out the king and the queen.

"Your majesty," he said instead and bowed his head, sensing Vabrino and d'Artagnan doing the same movement.

"My musketeers have returned," the King said with a thin smile on his lips.

"Juan!" Queen Anne exclaimed and walked over to the Spaniard. Vabrino looked up and kissed her hand.

"Anne. It's been a long time."

She smiled.

"Indeed." She turned to the king.

"Louis, may I introduce Juan Vabrino. He was a childhood friend of my brother and he fills the position of one of the most respected comtes in Spain."

Vabrino looked at the king and tilted his head.

"Your majesty."

Louis kept a straight face.

"Ah, yes. So, monsieur, what is the message you were chosen to deliver?"

Vabrino cleared his throat.

"Your highness, I expect that news have reached you of Spanish raiders stealing and marauding villages on the French countryside."

Louis nodded.

"Yes. And my first minister, and myself, saw it as a provocation. I was told a military move should be the answer, but the captain of my musketeers insisted on waiting for you. So, are these raiders acting in the name of King Philip?"

Vabrino paled visibly, but he shook his head.

"No, they are not. They are the result of a rebellious comte in Spain, who wants to take the war into his own hands. He freed them from a prison and uses them as his own personal army. King Philip asks for your permission to cross the border in order to hunt each and every one of these criminals, or for your help, if you are inclined to offer some."

The Kings eyes wandered between all of them.

"So, no provocation from the Spanish side?"

Vabrino nodded his head.

"I swear to you, your majesty."

"And why should I believe your word?" he said.

"Louis!" Anne hissed but she was shushed by her husband as he raised a hand.

"Your majesty, if I may," d'Artagnan said and stepped forward, "On our way back from Nantes, we were attacked and hunted by multiple of these raiders. They were trying to eliminate Monsieur Vabrino, and even made an attempt to kill his innocent daughter, so he wouldn't reach Paris to tell you the truth. He risked his life in order to deliver this message to you."

"His majesty can ask them himself," Athos stepped in, "The musketeers you sent out to fight them, they were able to take prisoners. In view of a lifelong stay in a French prison, they won't step up for the traitorous comte they are indebted to."

The King tilted his head, thinking, and his gaze wandered to one of the open mirrors.

He let out a breath he was holding and faced them again, a wide smile on his lips.

"You are right. That makes sense. I'm glad you were able to deliver this message to me, Monsieur Vabrino. I will make sure these raiders are taken care of, but I want them to experience French justice. And I want Philip to take care of that traitorous comte and make sure something like this never happens again. He also needs to pay for any damage done to the villages."

Vabrino bowed his head.

"King Philip will be inclined to follow your suggestions."

Louis looked satisfied.

"Good. You may stay here in Paris for a few days if you like, I will make sure to pay for new clothes. Once the roads are safe again, you can travel back to Spain."

"You are too kind, your highness," Vabrino replied.

"Then we are done here. I have business to attend to."

Louis tilted his head and grabbed his wife's hand as he made an attempt to leave the room.

"Your majesty," Vabrino called and Louis turned on the heel, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes?"

"I feel obliged to point out the incredible protection your elite guard offered me. Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan fulfilled their duty with the most incredible courage and will power I've ever witnessed. You can consider yourself lucky, having them in your regiment."

Louis looked impressed.

"That's good to hear."

Athos could see Tréville giving a faint smile. The king's eyes searched the room.

"By the way, where are your two companions, Athos? Aramis and Porthos, those are their names, right?"

Athos nodded, but before he could answer, Vabrino jumped in.

"During our journey, we were separated. Aramis and d'Artagnan kept me and my daughter safe, while Athos and Porthos turned every stone to find us. They all are brave man, your highness. Aramis was injured as he was protecting my daughter from a criminal. Porthos stayed with him."

Louis shot Athos a sympathetic look.

"It's good to hear that my musketeers represent such important values, and fulfill their duty with such passion and loyalty. Thank you, Monsieur Vabrino. I will remember that."

Tréville, Athos, d'Artagnan and Vabrino bowed as the King and the Queen left the room.

"You did well. All of you", Tréville said and clasped Athos' shoulder.

"I am proud to have you in my regiment."

Athos saw d'Artagnan blushing adorably.

"Thank you, captain."

Tréville smiled.

"Come on now, let's go home. You earned it."

* * *

Tréville had led his soldiers back to the garrison. He originally had intended for all of them to come back with him, but d'Artagnan had been distracted by Madame Bonacieux, who had insisted that d'Artagnan followed her back to her home where she could take care of him.

That had led to Tréville now following behind Athos as they rode through the garrison's gate. The swordsman hasn't spoken a word since they had left the palace, and Tréville for sure wasn't going to ask any questions now. He knew his men's priorities.

Without hesitation, Athos jumped off his horse and headed inside, to where they had left Aramis and Porthos. Tréville followed suit and hurried to keep up with Athos and his pace. The swordsman opened the door and nearly collided with Serge, who only gave them a quick look before disappearing towards the kitchen. As they entered the room, Tréville's gaze fell on Porthos first, who had sunk on a wooden chair with a bottle of wine in his hand, his face giving away nothing about his thoughts.

Aramis lay on the bed on the other side of the room under Porthos' strict watch. As far as Tréville could tell, a doctor had taken care of him, judging by the amount of stuff that was gathered on the small table next to Porthos. Aramis still seemed to be unconscious, sweat glistering on his forehead.

Porthos now looked up as he heard Athos and Tréville approaching and nodded as a greeting.

"Everything settled with the King?" he asked, his voice toneless.

Athos grunted as confirmation.

"We arrived in time. What did the medic say?"

Porthos scowled.

"The leg will need some time to heal, but it should recover. But the other wound got infected. So, that's what he's battling now."

Tréville sighed and stepped forward, placing a hand on the musketeer's shoulder.

"He's strong. Don't worry, Porthos."

Porthos just growled gruffly.

Tréville continued carefully.

"Would you mind giving me a minute here?" he said and exchanged a quick look with Athos, who understood immediately and held the door open with his hand.

"Come on, Porthos. We should see to the horses, and maybe get something decent to eat afterwards."

Porthos shook his head in refusal.

Tréville's expression became hard."I don't want to make it an order, Porthos."

Porthos caught his Captain's eye, and looked as if he'd liked to murder Tréville, but under Athos' impatient stare he finally gave in.

"Fine," he growled and followed Athos out of the room, leaving Tréville alone with Aramis. Instead of taking Porthos' seat, Tréville wandered to the window, watching how Athos was busy talking to Porthos, who was apparently refusing to accompany Athos to the stables.

"Can I help you, Captain?"

Tréville jumped in surprise when he heard the voice of Aramis. He turned around to look at his soldier.

"I thought you were still unconscious."

Aramis winced.

"Porthos is as quiet as an elephant when he is angry. Where is he, by the way?"

Tréville grinned. "Athos is keeping him in check. Like, right in front of this door."

Aramis closed his eyes, he was breathing heavily.

"I wanted to thank you, Aramis," Tréville said sincerely and took off his hat. "You did your duty, and you did it well."

"Why, because I used myself as a shield to protect a little girl? That had nothing to do with my duty. And I didn't do it for you. And it's nothing I want to be thanked for." He didn't sound reproachful or angry; the words escaped his lips with a friendly tone, but an honest one.

"I know," Tréville countered, rolling his eyes. "But I'm going to do it anyway. We musketeers hear such a thing too rarely." He knew Aramis wasn't trying to affront him. As much as the marksman liked to joke with his friends, but also tended to hold back some things when in public, he had always been honest with Tréville.

Aramis looked at the Captain, his eyes glowing with the heat he was radiating. He grimaced in his pain, but managed to keep his gaze on Tréville.

"Did you say that to d'Artagnan too?"

"Not yet."

"You should. He saved my life back there. If he had not been there, I probably would have never made it out."

"So the boy surprised you?" Tréville asked, curious to hear Aramis' point of view concerning the whole mission. But the marksman shook his head.

"No, not really. The lad is capable of a lot more than you think. He deserves a commission. He deserves a chance to prove himself," he panted.

"I know that, Aramis. But to give him that is easier said than done."

"D'Artagnan is a win for the whole regiment. I … I just thought you should know that." Aramis' eyes closed again, the exhaustion taking over.

Tréville walked the way over to the bed and squeezed Aramis' shoulder lightly, knowing that the man was still aware of it.

"I've known that since the day he had put a foot in the garrison."

* * *

 _3 days later_

"You need to improve your foot work, whelp. Your spry dancing may help you in a swordfight, but in a hand-to-hand-combat, I can crush you without even trying."

D'Artagnan groaned.

He was practicing with Porthos, and the older musketeer was really getting on his nerves. Or maybe d'Artagnan was just frustrated because he was losing every single training combat.

"Can't we practice something else today? I've really had enough of Porthos' lectures."

He looked helplessly to his other two comrades, who were seated at the bench in the courtyard of the garrison.

Athos was busy reading a book, his uninterested gaze meeting d'Artagnan's silent plea.

He just shrugged and returned his attention back to his book.

Next to him sat Aramis, leaning on a wooden staff he was currently using to walk, since his wounds were still healing. He battled the infection for another full day after they returned to Paris and kept everyone at the edge of insanity, but now, his wounds were looking clean and began to heal.

An amused smile flashed across his face as he watched d'Artagnan and Porthos brawl.

"Athos' hand is still recovering. He won't be able to spar with you today. And for myself, I think you don't need an explanation. I am just happy I made it from my room to this bench."

"But…he is really stressing me out," d'Artagnan tried again, but Aramis just glared.

"You need to learn from the best," he commented and snickered quietly as Porthos tackled the younger man to the ground.

"Alright, alright, enough," d'Artagnan exclaimed and raised his hands in defeat.

Porthos grinned smugly.

D'Artagnan shot him a warning gaze.

"Keep your wisdoms for yourself," he said with a grumpy tone and wandered over to the bench and sat down. Porthos joined him shortly after.

"Oh d'Artagnan," Aramis said and pulled out a piece of paper from his jacket, "I was told to hand you this."

D'Artagnan curiously took the paper from his friend's hand and opened it.

It was a drawing, probably made with coal. It showed a little girl, next to two giant men, holding their swords in a protective gesture.

"She made that drawing for us. She gave it to me this morning. I think we look pretty accurate, wouldn't you agree?"

Aramis winked.

"I think she exaggerated a bit," Porthos threw in with a wide grin.

D'Artagnan snorted.

"You are just jealous we got a portrait from a very talented young lady."

Porthos bellowed a laugh.

"Well, while you were playing the heroes for a little girl, Athos and I were busy saving your asses," he teased.

D'Artagnan's face turned serious again.

"Well, we did hold ourselves quite well, standing side by side, didn't we, Aramis?"

He smiled.

"We did. And you will get your commission soon, I am sure. You were incredible, d'Artagnan."

"It's one for all after all, isn't it?" d'Artagnan said with a whimsical smile on his face.

Porthos grunted approvingly while he poured himself a glass of water.

"And all for one."

* * *

 _That's it for my first real story. Thank you to everybody who read, followed, favorited and of course left a comment over the past weeks. I cherish each and every one of you for your support, and it's been such a nice welcome. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing._

 _A huge thank you again to Jenny, for her beta services. Without her I probably would have never continued writing in English at all, and I would have never published this. Thank you._

 _I still have a lot of ideas, and I'm working on some at the moment, so you'll hear from me again probably._

 _Thanks for reading!_


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